


skinned knees and constellations

by Lady_Slytherin



Category: Lovely Little Losers
Genre: AU, Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Parties, You get the idea, background meg/jaquie, leaving parties, the other background pairings are all canon pairings so I'm not tagging them, this is one of my fave fics I've written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 17:51:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5880103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Slytherin/pseuds/Lady_Slytherin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Can you name any of the stars?” Balthazar asked, following his gaze upward.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“No,” Peter said. “Can you?” </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Sure.” Balthazar tilted his head and pointed. “See that one there? That’s Sam. The one next to it is Martha, and to the right you’ll see Tim. I wouldn’t spend too much time around Tim, he’s a bit of an odd one. Thinks the moon is made of cheese.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Peter laughed. “You’re full of shit.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Yeah, probably.”</i>
</p><p>An AU in which Peter and Balth meet for the first time at a party that neither of them wants to be at.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Running Mad

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to megwinter and InnermostBox for betaing this for me! Megwinter and I are also running a NMTD/LoLiLo femslash week for Femslash February so be sure to check that out. Information can be found at www.lovelylittlefemslash.tumblr.com

**September**

This party sucked.

The problem with these things, Peter reflected, was that they were always the same. Get shitfaced, get laid, get out of there before you have to think too hard about the things you’re too damn tired of thinking about. It was a routine he’d perfected. It worked for him, usually. But now, standing against the wall and watching the other party-goers, all he could think about was how much effort it would be.

“Brooding again?” his friend Ben asked, sidling up to him. “You’re fifteen minutes behind schedule, normally you’re sucking face with someone right now.”

“Shut up,” Peter said with his patented scowl, the one that Ben had long since started ignoring.

“Ooh, struck out?” Ben asked. “Well, don’t you worry, the night is still young. I’m sure you can find someone who wants to stick their tongue in your mouth before too long.”

“Benedick Hobbes, I swear to God, if you say one more word about my sex life tonight, I’ll—” Peter made a frustrated sound rather than finishing his thought. 

“Well, I suppose that’s my cue to leave,” Ben said. “I have a skype call with Bea later tonight, _thank you_ very much. You sticking around?”

“For a bit, yeah,” Peter said. Might as well be here as anywhere else, really. If he went back to the flat he’d have to listen to Ben saying nauseating things into his computer, and both of their other flatmates were here. Freddie had disappeared almost immediately with someone Peter hadn’t recognized, and Meg was on a couch at the other end of the room flirting with a girl who looked suspiciously like Jaquie. Probably was Jaquie, come to think of it, the two had been rather close lately.

“I’ll see you at the flat, then,” Ben said, clapping Peter on the back as he left. 

After scanning the room one last time, Peter went into the kitchen in search of another beer. It was too hot in here, really, whoever’s party it was should have had the foresight to open some windows. When he found the beer, Peter held the bottle to his forehead for a moment before opening it and taking a swig. 

As he did so, Peter noticed that the door from the kitchen to outside was open. He slipped through it and onto the landing of the stairs to the outdoors. This would work. A few minutes were all he needed, just so he could cool off and pull himself together. And after that, who knew? It wasn’t too late to go home with someone, if that was what he wanted to do.

The cool air was nice on his bare arms. He’d left his coat in the living room somewhere earlier this evening, although at the moment he couldn’t remember exactly where. It didn’t matter right now, though. Peter took a few deep breaths so that the cold would numb him from the inside out. He drank his beer. 

He couldn’t have been out there for more than a few minutes when the door opened again and someone stepped outside. The footsteps stopped abruptly. “Sorry, didn’t realize there was anyone out here,” a voice said. Peter turned his body partway around, and found himself looking at a boy with bright blue eyes. He held a ukulele loosely in one hand. 

“Hi,” Peter said, voice catching slightly. “I mean, no problem. You can come out here if you want, it’s not like I own it.” 

“All right.” The boy stepped out onto landing, which suddenly felt a whole lot smaller. Peter leaned against the rail. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“We haven’t,” Peter said. He quickly cleared his throat. “Peter. My name’s Peter.”

“I’m Balthazar,” the boy said. “I was here with my friend Kit, but he seems to have disappeared. There’s a girl here who he’s on the verge of dating, but he wanted me around in case things didn’t work out.” He pulled his sleeves over his hands and looked a bit sheepish. “Sorry, you probably didn’t need to know all that.”

“It’s cool,” Peter assured him. 

“I was just feeling like a third wheel, so I came out here.” 

Peter nodded. He didn’t usually get tongue-tied around people, but he had the feeling that his usual lines wouldn’t work here. Not sure what to say, he shoved his hands into his pockets and looked up at the stars. 

“Can you name any of them?” Balthazar asked, following his gaze upward.

“No,” Peter said. “Can you?” 

“Sure.” Balthazar tilted his head and pointed. “See that one there? That’s Sam. The one next to it is Martha, and to the right you’ll see Tim. I wouldn’t spend too much time around Tim, he’s a bit of an odd one. Thinks the moon is made of cheese.”

Peter laughed. “You’re full of shit.”

“Yeah, probably,” Balthazar said. He smiled, and Peter found himself in sudden need of distraction so that he wouldn’t keep staring at his lips. He looked down at the ukulele.

“You a musician?” he asked. 

Balthazar gave a sort of half shrug. “I dabble. I’ve played a few open mics, but I don’t know if I’m any good.”

“Can you play me something?” 

Balthazar laughed, then lifted the instrument and played a few bars of something that Peter almost recognized.

“What is that?”

“Mumford and Sons. I may have twisted it around a bit.”

“Do you write any of your own stuff?” Peter asked.

Balthazar nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

“Can I hear any?” 

Balthazar just looked at him for a moment, which was enough to speed up Peter’s heart. “Not just yet, I don’t think.”

Peter didn’t say anything for a little while, just looked at this boy who had managed to make himself interesting. These parties were always full of strangers, but it was rare that Peter felt as though he’d actually met someone _new_. “Do you know whose party this is?” he blurted out. “Jaquie told me when she invited me, but I can’t remember.”

“Paige Moth,” Balthazar said. “I know her pretty well. We see each other a lot at open mics.”

“I don’t think I know her,” Peter said, feeling suddenly out of joint. Had the parties really all blended together so much that he didn’t even bother to find out who was hosting them? There was a real person with a life and a job who probably had their shit together more than he did behind the scenes and each and every one of these things, and he was just an extra who had shown up so there’d be enough of a crowd. He leaned more heavily on the railing. “Can we get out of here?” he asked. This time the increase in heart rate wasn’t from eye contact, but his own racing thoughts. “I just—I really need to get away.”

Balthazar’s expression was impossible to read. “Where would we go?”

“I don’t know. Anywhere. You pick.” Peter waited, his body buzzing with impatience and too much or not enough alcohol. He had to hold back from begging for a response, something to tell him he wasn’t alone in the universe.

At last, Balthazar nodded. “Yeah, all right. I should say goodbye to Kit, though. He’ll want to know that I left.”

Peter managed to nod. “I need to go in to get my coat, anyway,” he said. “Meet me out front in five minutes?”

“Better make it ten if we’re trying to get through the crowd.”

“Okay. Ten minutes, then.”

Balthazar nodded. Even in the dark, his eyes were the bluest thing Peter had ever seen.

Peter trailed Balthazar back into the house, then went to the living room in search of his coat. The press of people around him felt even more suffocating after the quiet of the porch, and he was filled with feeling that things were wrong somehow, that he should already be long gone. It took him the full ten minutes to find his coat, get it out from under the people sitting on it, and make it out to the front of the house. 

Balthazar joined him a moment later. “Sorry, it took a little while to find Kit.”

“No problem,” Peter said. “So, where are you taking me?” 

“It’s a surprise,” Balthazar said. “We can walk though, it’s not far.”

Peter just nodded and walked half a step behind him, barely caring enough to wonder where they were going. After a few moments, he reluctantly slid his coat over his shoulders to ward of the cold, which was finally starting to get to him. The streetlamps made their shadows trail behind them like ghosts. 

Peter finally felt as though he could breathe, and his thoughts trailed back to the party. Would anyone notice that he’d left? If anything, they’d assume he’d gone home with someone. He was off the map, somewhere outside of other people’s expectations. Maybe he really was a ghost.

“It’s pretty close now,” Balthazar said, leading him off the road a bit. “See that trail over there? It leads to a park. No one’s ever there at night. I sometimes go there to write music.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Kit’s great, but our other flatmates have—well, Kit calls it a bad vibe. I dunno if that’s what I’d say exactly, but I know I don’t feel comfortable writing in the same house that they’re in.”

“That sucks,” Peter said as they turned onto the trail.

“What about you?” Balthazar asked. “Any flatmates?

“Three. They’re mostly all right. Ben keeps trying to post our entire lives on the internet, though. He leaves cameras all over the place just in case we do anything interesting.”

“Does it ever work?” Balthazar asked, turning his head to ask. The trail was thin enough that they were walking single file.

Peter shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t feel like we’re that interesting, but he does have quite a few subscribers.”

“Does it bother you?” Balthazar asked. 

Peter stumbled on a tree branch and quickly righted himself. _Did_ it bother him that Ben was so eager to share his life online? He’d never thought of it in those terms, not really. Last year, when things had gone—the way they’d gone, having it online had felt like the worst sort of punishment. The threat of the same thing happening now was enough to make Peter think long and hard about any decisions he made. “I dunno,” he finally said. “Haven’t really thought about it. Even if I did, there’s no stopping Ben.”

“Sounds like an interesting person,” Balthazar said. “I’ll have to meet him sometime.” They reached the end of the trail and Balthazar gestured vaguely around the park. There wasn’t much too it, just a lots of trees and a swing set with two swings that swayed lightly in the breeze. “Here it is. There’s a picnic table over there if you want to sit.”

The table was illuminated by a streetlamp that seemed like a spotlight. Peter could picture Balthazar sitting there, strumming on his ukulele as he worked out the words to a song. He liked that image. “Yeah, why don’t we sit,” he said. “I can’t imagine there’s many people in the daytime here, either.”

“I dunno,” Balthazar said as the two of them made their way towards the table. “I only come here at night. I feel like it’d ruin it, if I saw it in the day. Things are different in the dark, you know?”

“Yeah,” Peter said. The dark blurred things, softened their edges so that you didn’t have to notice the finer details. Then daylight came again and ruined everything with clarity. 

He sat down on top of the table. Balthazar joined him. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, until Balthazar’s phone buzzed and he looked down at it. The light of the screen illuminated his face. 

“What’s your last name?” he asked. “Kit wants to know it in case you abduct me.”

“Donaldson. What’s yours?”

Balthazar typed out a quick response before replying. “Jones.” 

“Balthazar Jones, huh? That’s quite a name.” Peter suddenly worried that Balthazar would think he was laughing at his name rather than admiring it, and quickly asked, “Do you have a middle name?”

“Balthazar _is_ my middle name, actually.”

“Are you telling me that I let a guy take me somewhere alone at night and I don’t even know his first name?” Peter asked, feigning shock “Your friend Kit should be texting _me_ to make sure I’m safe.”

Balthazar laughed. “Do you want me to tell you what it is? It’s not like it’s a secret or anything.” 

Peter thought about this for a moment. “Nah, don’t tell me. It’d ruin the mystery.”

“Oh, so my name is a mystery now?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, smiling. “I think so. You seem like someone who should have an air of mystery about him.”

“I think you may be building me up a little much,” Balthazar said.

Peter looked at him, observing the way he looked surrounded by trees, with a streetlight shining down on him. “Nah, just the right amount, I think.”

“So, tell me something about yourself,” Balthazar said, looking away as though nervous. “Or are you trying to maintain an air of mystery as well?”

“What do you want to know?” Peter asked, leaning backward on his hands. 

“Well, anything, really. Why’d you want to leave the party so badly?”

A splinter dug into Peter’s hand, making him wince as he shifted away from it. His mind flashed forward through sepia-toned images. Claudio yelling. Beatrice yelling. Pedro yelling, Pedro who never yelled or did anything that would disrupt his all-around-great-guyness—

He’d watched the video over and over after it had happened, only stopping when the nausea had gotten too strong.

Balthazar was still waiting for an answer. 

“They start to blur together when you’ve been to too many of them,” Peter told him. “House parties, birthday parties— _Ben demanding that the camera be turned off, not for Pedro’s sake but for Hero’s—_ “—apology parties, they’re all the same after a while.”

Balthazar’s lips quirked. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of an apology party.”

Peter flinched at how playful Balthazar’s tone was, although there was no way he could have known this wasn’t a joking matter. “Oh, you haven’t? Well, I’ll tell you, they pretty much suck.” Dimly, Peter wondered if he was drunk, if that was why he was saying all of this. “Here’s how it works. You go to a party full of people who trusted you when they shouldn’t have, and you try to show them how much of an all-around-great-guy you still are. Only you’re not, and they know it and you know it and all you can do is apologize and hope they forgive you. And if they don’t they’re assholes and if they do they’re idiots, and either way there’s no way they’ll ever trust you again.”

“No, that doesn’t sound like fun,” Balthazar agreed. He was looking at Peter, really looking at him, and for some reason Peter felt as though he were being caught doing something bad, like throwing rocks at car windows . “Can’t really see how that’d feel the same as a birthday party, though.”

Peter looked away and started tugging the splinter from his palm. “Like I said, they all blend together after a while.” The feeling was back, the one where he wanted to run until he reached the edge of the world, maybe further. He turned back to Balthazar and demanded, “What about you? Tell me something about yourself.”

“Well, let’s see,” Balthazar said, pulling his legs up so that he was sitting cross-legged on the table. “Music’s my life. I’m at university right now, but what I’d really like to do is get to a point where I can just play, you know? Like, I’m not saying I want to be a rock star or anything, but I’d like to be paid for doing what I love.”

“I’m at uni too,” Peter said. “Don’t know why, though, I’m rubbish at it. Hey, maybe we’ll have a class together at some point,” he added quickly, realizing that he’d been steering towards the personal. He was usually so good at keeping things light and breezy, but Balthazar—well, Balthazar wasn’t breezy.

“That’d be cool,” Balthazar said. “My sister thinks I need to get out more. I broke up with my boyfriend a few months ago and she’s convinced I’m not over it.”

“Are you?” Peter asked.

“Dunno. I wouldn’t say that I’m _not_ over it, but I also wouldn’t say that I’m over it. I don’t know if that makes any sense.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Peter said. “I don’t really do the whole relationship thing.” 

“How come?” Balthazar asked. Peter usually prickled at this sort of question, but coming from Balthazar it didn’t sound like an accusation, more like he was just curious.

He shrugged. “I like having fun. I like going out and getting drunk and not having anyone worrying about me. I don’t—I just don’t need to have to be thinking about other people and how I’m affecting them. My actions only affect me this way, so I can do what I want.” He’d given this explanation dozens of times, but this time the words tumbled out without their usual polish.

Balthazar played with his sleeves. “Sounds a bit lonely.”

_Maybe lonely is what I want right now._ “It’s not forever,” Peter said. “I mean, who knows, right? Do I want to be in a relationship someday? Yeah, probably. I just don’t see the point in worrying about it right now.”

“Fair enough,” Balthazar said lightly. “Nineteen probably is a bit young to get worked up about not having a boyfriend.”

“Or a girlfriend.”

“Yeah, if you’re into girls. Or a partner of any gender, really. Kit keeps reminding me that I shouldn’t talk like there’s only two genders. He’s genderfluid, so that sort of language bugs him.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. He doesn’t switch pronouns because he says it’s too much hassle, but he doesn’t feel tied to one gender all the time.” 

“That’s cool, I guess. I didn’t know that was a thing.” 

Balthazar gave him a half-smile. “Yeah, I didn’t either for a while, but it makes sense.”

After a little while, Peter asked, “What time is it?” His phone had died somewhere between the party and the park. Maybe it should have alarmed him, that he was alone with a near-stranger without any way of getting out, but it didn’t. He felt safe with Balthazar, but he didn’t know which kind of safe, whether it was like the sure feeling that you’ll when a football game when your team is prepared or the reckless kind of safety, the one where you know it doesn’t matter if you win or lose because no matter how well you play it won’t fix the parts of you that need fixing.

Balthazar checked his phone. “About one in the morning. Do you need to get home soon?”

“Probably,” Peter said. He stretched. “I don’t want to, though.”

“I don’t mind staying a bit longer,” Balthazar said. “I have a paper that I probably should be working on, but Kit says I should stop stressing so much about things like that.”

“I should probably be stressing a bit more than I am about stuff like that,” Peter admitted. 

“Perfect,” Balthazar said. “In that case we’re canceling each other out, yeah? So we’re actually both doing exactly what we’re supposed to be.”

“I can’t argue with that kind of logic,” Peter said.

“No, I don’t suppose so.” 

Suddenly, Balthazar’s ukulele was back in his hands, as though it has always been there. Peter had thought he was watching Balthazar, but missed the crucial shift, just like the way he noticed when pain started but never when it stopped. 

“You going to play something?” he asked.

“Maybe,” Balthazar said thoughtfully, strumming. “There’s a few things I’ve been working on, but they aren’t quite right yet.”

“If you play them for me, I can tell you what I think,” Peter said. “You don’t have to, though. If it’s not ready for an audience that’s cool.”

“In a bit, maybe,” Balthazar said. He continued to strum absently, as though he weren’t even aware he was doing it. The ukulele seemed to be a natural extension of his body. 

Peter tried to remember if there was anything that for even a fraction of a second had felt as natural to him as music seemed to be for Balthazar. Football came to mind, but he’d cared about football because he was supposed to, because it was what all-around great guys like him _did_. But then, maybe it was a good thing that he hadn’t cared about anything enough to cling to it. When he’d let go of who he’d been, let go of Pedro, it had been easy. There was nothing holding him to that role but other people’s expectations. If there’d been any part of it that he’d really loved, would he have been able to let go? Would he have wanted to?

“What’ll you do if you don’t make it as a musician?” Peter asked. _What will you do if everything falls apart around you?_ Suddenly, Peter wanted more than anything to know the answer to his question. Who would Balthazar be without music? Who was Peter without Pedro?

Balthazar shrugged, but the gesture didn’t come off as particularly casual. “I s’pose I’d find something to do. Everyone does in the end, right? I worry about that sometimes, though. Like, not that I won’t get paid to play, but that other things will get in the way so much that I’ll stop playing.”

“You mean like work?”

“Work, parties, anything really. Don’t get me long, those can be good too, but not at the expense of more important things. I just don’t want to lose something as fundamental as my music, you know? Other things might keep me happy on a more basic level, but happiness isn’t all I’m after.”

Peter forced himself to keep his breathing slow. It wouldn’t be fair to lash out at Balthazar when he was just saying what he thought. “Not everyone has a calling,” Peter said. His skin felt tight, and he wondered if this was another argument he was going to lose, like the ones he and Ben engaged with daily. “For some people having fun from moment to moment is all there is.”

“You think so?” Balthazar asked, looking at him. “Well, maybe. I guess I don’t really know, seeing as I’ve always known what I wanted to do. But there’s got to be more to life than that, hasn’t there? Like, maybe not everyone has a calling or whatever you want to call it, but everyone has something that makes their life more than just moments. There has to be. Otherwise what’s the point?”

“There isn’t one,” Peter said sharply. “Life doesn’t have a point.”

Balthazar put a hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter relaxed slightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—upset you, or anything.”

“You didn’t,” Peter said, looking away. “I just disagree with you, that’s all.”

Balthazar maintained eye contact for a moment, then took his hand away and resumed strumming. “Okay,” he said. “We don’t have to think the same thing.”

“No,” Peter said. “I guess we don’t.”

“Do you still want me to play something?” Balthazar asked.

Peter looked across the park towards the swing set. Did he want to hear Balthazar’s music? Absolutely. But he didn’t want to have to think. Didn’t want to have to wonder if Balthazar was right, if there needed to be more to life, things that Peter didn’t have and didn’t know how to ask for. “Play me something without words,” he said. “Or take them out, I don’t care. Just no words, please.” 

“Don’t want me to serenade you?” Balthazar joked. “All right, just the uke, then.”

He started to play. Peter watched his fingers move along the strings, mesmerized by how sure they were, how they always made it to the right place at the right time. When Balthazar finished playing he looked at Peter, as though asking for confirmation that he’d done all right.

“I liked it,” Peter said. 

“I’m not sure if it’s finished,” Balthazar said. 

“Well, if that’s the work in progress I’m sure it’ll be amazing when you’re done,” Peter said. He was still looking at Balthazar’s hands. He wondered if they’d be warm or cold. Probably cold, with the temperature tonight and the lack of gloves. 

Cold sounded nice, actually.

“What are you thinking?” Balthazar asked. 

Peter tore his gaze away from Balthazar’s hands, and ended up looking across the park again. “I’m thinking—what if we went on those swings? You think they could support our weight?”

“Probably,” Balthazar said. “They look old, but they’re not in bad shape. You want to try and see?”

Peter looked back at Balthazar. “Yeah,” he said, feeling his face move into a smile. “Let’s do it.”

Without even waiting for an answer, Peter leapt the bench and was running. He was out of shape from quitting football, but the feel of the ground beneath his feet still felt right. When he reached the swings, he dove onto one of them and began to push his legs. The ropes bristled against his fingers, but he ignored it. Only a few seconds later, he heard the sound of someone landing next to him, and grinned as he saw Balthazar sit down. Then Peter’s focus went back to pumping his legs, pushing himself to fly as high as he dared, and for a moment, it almost felt like escape.

Then there was a strange creaking sound, and one of the ropes snapped. Peter was sent toppling to the ground. He hadn’t been too high up when the swing broke, but the wind was knocked out of him, and the gravel he landed on scraped his knee through a hole in his jeans.

“Shit, are you okay?” Balthazar asked, dragging his feet to stop his own swing. 

“Yeah, I am. I think I’m bleeding, though,” Peter said. He sat down and pulled his leg up, pushing the fabric of his jeans out of the way to get a better look. Sure enough, a small trail of blood was trickling down his knee.

“I guess I was wrong about the swings being able to support us,” Balthazar said, looking dubiously at the broken rope. 

“Nah, it’s my fault for trying to swing so high,” Peter said. “You stayed close to the ground and nothing happened to you.”

Balthazar sat down next to him on the ground. “Let me take a look at this,” After a few seconds he said, “I can’t see anything in the dark. Do you think you can get over to the streetlamp?”

“It’s just a skinned knee,” Peter said. “Trust me, I’ve survived worse.” He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry at the way Balthazar seemed to be taking care of him. It was funny, right? Peter didn’t need to be looked after. 

“Come on, then,” Balthazar said, extending his hand so that he could pull Peter to his feet. They walked a few yards to the nearest streetlamp, and Peter lowered himself down on the wet grass. Balthazar sat next to him and resumed his inspection of the injury.

After a few moments, Peter decided he couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Well, doc?” he asked. “Am I going to die?”

“I’m afraid so,” Balthazar said gravely. “At any rate, this leg is going to have to go.”

“It’s okay, I liked the other leg better anyway.

Balthazar laughed, then asked, “Is it okay if I touch you? I think there’s a bit of gravel in your knee.”

“Sure,” Peter said. 

Balthazar put a hand on his knee. Sure enough, it was cold. He used the other to start gently picking gravel out of the wound. His face was so intent as he worked that Peter couldn’t help but stare at him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had put so much energy into making sure he was okay.

“Are you finished yet?” he asked abruptly. He couldn’t take this. It wasn’t fair, that this boy who had joined Peter on the porch at some stupid party could be sitting here with him like this, acting like he really _cared._ It was too much.

“Hush,” Balthazar said, a slight smile gracing his face. “I’m almost done.”

Peter waited, feeling entirely too sober. He busied himself staring at the swing he’d been on. It hung sadly off to the side, held up by only one rope, one more thing he’d destroyed and didn’t know how to fix. _It wasn’t my fault,_ he argued with himself. _Ropes aren’t strong enough to hold up swings anyway, they should have used a chain._

_I was doing them a favor. Someone else could fallen, and that’d have been way worse._

_If it’s broken, it can’t hurt anyone._

Balthazar’s hands retreated. “I think I got it all,” he said. “You might want to check when you get home and there’s better light.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Peter asked.

“Well, I suppose it’d be better if we had something to clean it with, but I don’t have any water with me, do you?”

“No.”

“I carry a first aid kit in my guitar case, but I don’t have it with me,” Balthazar said. He moved so that he was sitting cross-legged next to Peter. “If it really hurts we could probably bandage it with something.”

“Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt that much. You don’t have to go tearing apart your clothes to make a bandage,” Peter said. “What I meant was, aren’t you going to kiss it better?” 

The moment the words were out of his mouth, Peter wished he could take them back. They had sounded so _good_ in his head, funny and lighthearted and exactly the sort of thing someone who wasn’t that badly hurt would say. Out loud they just sounded stupid, even more so when said to someone as sincere as Balthazar. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, backtracking. “It was a bad joke.”

“I mean, if you really want me to I will,” Balthazar said, avoiding eye contact. “I’m not kissing where the blood is, though. Wouldn’t be very hygienic.”

“What about my lips?” Peter asked, ignoring the way his heart sped up. “Would you kiss me there?” It wasn’t as though he hadn’t been expecting to kiss anyone tonight. Why _not_ Balthazar? 

“Yeah,” Balthazar said with a tiny smile. “I reckon I would.”

Balthazar leaned in, and Peter closed his eyes as a pair of soft lips hit his own. He put his hand on Balthazar’s knee, but just as he expected the kiss to deepen, Balthazar pulled away.

“There,” Balthazar said, looking away. “You’re all better now.”

Peter could still feel his lips tingling. It wasn’t until Balthazar looked at him again that he realized he was staring and quickly turned his head.

“Thanks,” he said. 

“No problem. Just glad you aren’t hurt worse. You could have fallen from a lot higher.”

_I have,_ Peter thought. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said. “That would have been bad.”

Balthazar shivered. 

“You all right?” Peter asked.

“Just cold. We should probably head home soon, especially seeing as you’re still bleeding.”

_Home._ For some reason, Peter still had a hard time thinking of it as home. He’d lived there for months now, close to a year really, but he could never bring himself to call it anything other than the flat. “I can survive a bit longer if you can,” he said, trying not to convey how not ready to leave he was. He pulled off his peacoat. “Here, you can wear this.” 

“Are you sure?” Balthazar asked.

“I don’t mind being cold,” Peter said. “Come on, just take it. You can give it back when we leave.”

“All right then,” Balthazar said, pulling the coat on over his jacket. It hung too large on his body, the sleeves falling past his hands. “You have to tell me if you want it back, though. I don’t want you getting cold trying to act all noble.”

“No worries,” Peter said. “I couldn’t be noble if I tried.”

Balthazar frowned. “I don’t think that’s true,” he said. “I think people can be however they want to be. I mean, there are obviously limitations. Like, you can’t just grow wings and fly. But if you wanted to be noble, or an interpretive dancer or anything like that, I think you could do that.”

Peter almost fell over from laughter. “Interpretive dancer?” he said once he’d managed to catch his breath. “That’s what you think I’d be into?”

“Why not? Do you really want me to assume based on your appearance that you _wouldn’t_ want to be an interpretive dancer?”

“Oh, Ben would have a field day with that,” Peter said, still laughing a little bit. “Can you imagine? He’d probably demand I make dance tutorials and post them on his Youtube channel.”

“Well that’s perfect then. You’ll learn to interpretive dance and then all the people of the internet will be able to see you in your full glory.”

“You can accompany me on the ukulele,” Peter said. He leaned towards Balthazar a bit as he spoke. 

“Yeah, or one of my other instruments,” Balthazar said. “Something that would really bring out your talents, like the kazoo.”

“You play the kazoo?” Peter asked. Balthazar nodded. “How many instruments can you play?”

Balthazar lifted his hands to count on his fingers. The sleeves of Peter’s coat slipped down to his elbows. “Probably about a dozen or so?” he said. “Depends on what you count as playing. Some of them I just dabble in.”

“That’s amazing,” Peter said. “Where did you find the time to learn all that?”

“Here and there. Some of them I’ve been learning since I was a kid, some more recently.”

“Wow,” Peter said, shaking his head slightly. “Now I’m starting to feel bad about myself. Quick, tell me some of your negative qualities.”

Balthazar laughed. Peter looked at him, and saw that he was looking up at the stars. “I’m terrible at writing letters,” Balthazar said after a few moments of reflection. “Once I broke an expensive vase and said it was my sister Rosa and my parents believed me. She was really angry at me for that. Oh, and I spend too much money on hummus. Any of that make you feel better?”

“Yeah, actually, it does,” Peter said, but his insides were teeming with questions, things like, _who was it you lost contact with because you couldn’t write letters?_ and _did your sister know it was you, did she forgive you, did you forgive yourself?_ “Hummus, huh?”

“Yeah. Ever since I went vegetarian it’s all I’ve been wanting to eat. Probably means I’m protein deficient or something. What about you?”

“I’ve never really had an opinion about hummus.”

Balthazar chuckled. Peter watched him out of the corner of his eye, keeping his face trained forward so that it would look like he, too, was watching the stars. “I meant, what are your flaws?” Balthazar asked. “I’ve told you mine, it’s only fair that you tell me yours.”

_I don’t stop to find out of things are true before reacting. I get drunk because I’m so fucking tired of having to live up to people’s expectations and I wish they’d just give up on me so I could get on with my life._ “I don’t eat enough vegetables,” he said. 

Balthazar shook his head. “Come on, there’s more to you than that. No one eats enough vegetables.”

_I leave parties with boys with beautiful eyes and don’t know how to handle it when they actually want to know me. I go too high on the swings and hurt myself and expect other people to kiss me better._

_I’m still thinking about that kiss._

“Once I tried to set up Ben with a girl who he hated only they ended up being perfect for each other and they’ve been dating for months now.”

“Really?” Balthazar asked. He turned away from the stars and looked at Peter, a smile dancing across his face. “Come on, there must be more of a story there.”

Peter told him the story, skipping over the parts that related to Hero or John or his own stupid choices and focusing on the funny bits, the ways that Bea and Ben had tried to hide what was becoming increasingly obvious to everyone else.

“That’s—wow,” Balthazar said. “Someone should make a play out of that. Or a song, maybe.”

“You could write a song if you wanted,” Peter said. “Bea and Ben wouldn’t care.” He almost mentioned that most of it was online, but then Balthazar might go and find their channels, and then he would about Pedro and that was the last thing he needed to know about.

“Maybe,” Balthazar said. “I’d feel weird writing something like that about people I’ve never met, but I suppose I could give it a go.”

“If you do, let me know,” Peter said. “I’d love to hear that.”

“All right, then.”

They fell into silence. Peter looked up at the stars and tried to remember the names that Balthazar had given them. Had that really only been a few hours ago? “Tell me a story about the stars,” he said. “The ones you named earlier.”

Balthazar turned his head towards him, eyes full of questions. “You want to hear a story about the stars?”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “Why not?”

“Okay,” Balthazar said. He pointed up at the sky. “Well, there was Sam, right? And over there next to him is Martha, and—just a minute, I’m trying to remember the other one.”

“Tim,” Peter replied automatically. He hadn’t even realized he remembered it until the words were out of his mouth.

Balthazar smiled at him. “Right, Tim. Well, Sam, Martha, and Tim used to be people, did I tell you that? They were teenagers lost at sea.”

“Literally or metaphorically?”

“Both. They were literally lost at sea because they were victims of a shipwreck and had to build a boat, and they were metaphorically lost at sea because they were young and all young people are lost in some way or other.”

Peter leaned back on his hands. “What did they build the boat out of?”

“Dreams, I reckon. And a few stray boards from the ship that they lost. But mostly dreams. It was a very difficult time for Martha, Sam, and Tim.”

“I can imagine. So what happened to them?” Peter asked. He tried to watch the stars but he kept glancing back at Balthazar, watching him tell the story. 

“Oh, things turned out all right, if that’s what you’re wondering. But it was pretty tough going for a while there. See, Martha, Sam, and Tim, they made it to a desert island, only there wasn’t any food there, yeah? So as the days went on, they got hungrier and hungrier, until Martha had the idea of climbing into a tree to look for something to eat. They found three trees standing right next to each other that stretched up into the sky, as high as they could see.”

“Very convenient.”

“Yes, they thought so too,” Balthazar said with a wry smile. “So they climbed and they climbed, and they didn’t find food but they made it into the clouds anyway, then past the clouds, until they were as high as the stars. There still wasn’t any food, but the stars spoke to them.”

“What did they say?”

“They said, ‘Come be like us. Stars don’t need to eat.’ So Sam Martha and Tim, they thought about this, and they decided it was a pretty good offer, all things considered. I mean, who doesn’t want to be a star?”

“Not me,” Peter said.

“So they became stars and lived together in the sky and they’ve been there ever since.”

“Happily ever after?” Peter asked. His voice came dangerously close to shaking, which was ridiculous. _Get it together,_ he told himself. _It’s just a stupid story._

“Of course,” Balthazar said, his previously playful tone becoming serious. “Stories have to have happy endings, yeah? Things can get pretty rough there in the middle, so rough that you don’t know if you’ll ever make it out, or if you do you ever won’t be the same, but the ending has to make it worthwhile.”

“Was it worthwhile?” Peter asked. He felt as though he were holding his breath.

“Yes,” Balthazar said, lips curving upward into a half-smile. “It was.”

Peter thought he might be about to cry, and the words came out of his mouth before they’d even entered his brain. “Come back to my place with me.” He needed to leave, needed to start over with something he knew how to do, something that would make him feel in control of his life. 

Balthazar’s face showed no expression. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he said slowly. “You know that’s not why I left with you, yeah?” 

Peter could feel his insides shattering to bits. “Of course it isn’t,” he said, scrambling to his feet. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have even—” He’d been rejected before, of course he had, but for some reason this was worse, this feeling in his chest that told him he’d ruined this, just like he ruined everything. “I should go. It’s late.”

He turned to leave, but felt a hand on his shoulder. “What?” he asked roughly, afraid to turn around in case he really did start crying.

“Your coat,” Balthazar said. Peter turned halfway around and took the coat out of Balthazar’s hands, and now that he thought about it, he really was too cold.

“Thanks,” he muttered, slipping it back over his shoulders and walking away as quickly as he could, away from Balthazar and this goddamn situation that he’d gotten himself into. Casual sex was one thing, but spending hours at a park with a boy just because he had nice eyes and told stories? 

The further away Peter got from the park the faster he moved, until he was running. His knee started bleeding again from the pressure, blood trickling down his leg like it had when he was six and had fallen off his bike for the first time, and it shouldn’t have hurt this much after everything else that had happened, but it did, it really did.

 


	2. Oh Brother

**October**

“Are you _really_ not going to wear a costume?” Ben demanded, putting his hands on his hips. Or rather, the hips of his very round costume. “The whole point of a Halloween party is the costume!”

“It’s not even Halloween for another week,” Peter said. “Besides, I hate dressing up.” They weren’t even at the party yet, and he was already feeling antsy. “Can we please just go?”

Ben frowned at him, looking especially comical under the hat with what might have been a unicorn horn coming out of it. “You never used to hate dressing up! You threw a costume party yourself in year thirteen.”

“Well, _now_ I hate dressing up, all right?” Peter snapped. “Anyway, what are you supposed to be?” 

Ben shook his head at Peter. “Are you telling me that you honestly don’t recognize the national bird of New Zealand when you see it?” he asked. “I’m a kiwi!”

Peter groaned. “Of course you are. Can we just go, please? Before I find out that your girlfriend is also wearing a bird-related costume and decide to just stay home?” Bea had been visiting the flat for the past few weeks. Peter had mostly avoided her, still unsure of how to bridge the gap that had never quite been mended between them.

“What’s with you, anyway?” Ben asked. “You usually love going to parties. And no, despite my noble efforts, Bea has decided _not_ to go as a flamingo.”

“Well, I’m not in the mood tonight,” Peter said. He tried to glare at Ben, but found he was too tired to do so.

“Then why are you going?”

“Because Jaquie’s throwing it and she wants me to come. There’s some guy she wants me to meet from the play she’s doing.”

“Oh, so you’ll let Jaquie set you up but you won’t let me do it? I see how it is.”

Peter actually laughed at that. “Who exactly where you planning on setting me up with?”

“I don’t know, but I’d have liked to be _asked._ Jaquie’s not the only one who has attractive friends,” Ben said, coming dangerously close to pouting.

“Relax, Ben,” Peter said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I probably won’t even like the guy. I’m just meeting him because Jaquie will be pissed if I don’t.”

“Fine,” Ben said with a dramatic sigh. “Now come on already, the others are waiting outside!”

Peter put up his hands. “I’m not the one holding us up here!”

“Oh. Right,” Ben said. “Off we go then, out the door!”

They finally made it outside and joined Meg, Freddie, and Bea as they made their way to the party. Bea was dressed as Frankenstein (“Victor, not the monster, _obviously,_ the monster doesn’t even _have_ a name, Peter!”) and Meg was wearing a flower crown and claiming to be a fairy queen. Freddie had been working on her costume for days without letting anyone know what it was, and then at the last minute had given up decided to just wear overalls.

Jaquie’s flat wasn’t far from their own, so they walked there. Bea and Ben were talking to the group, but Peter ignored them, looking instead at the way the streetlights hit the pavement and occasionally up at the stars, none of which were named Martha.

“I’m going to say hi to Jaquie,” Meg said the moment they arrived. “She should be around here somewhere, it’s _her_ flat.” She was across the room before anyone had had a chance to respond.

“Why don’t we go over by the drinks?” Freddie suggested. “Not too close to the drinks, of course, I don’t want to be in anyone’s way—but closer than we are now.”

“Freddie,” Ben said. “Why are you being weird?”

“I am not!” Freddie said, a bit too loudly. Ben just looked at her. “Fine, I am. I invited someone to the party who I want you guys to meet, and he told me he’d meet me by the drinks table, all right?”

“Wait a minute,” Ben said, pointing dramatically at Freddie. “He’s the one from the coffee shop, isn’t he? I _knew_ you weren’t just going for the coffee.”

Freddie groaned. “Yes, it is, and we’re kind of dating, and I need you not to be weird about it, all right?”

Ben gasped. “Weird? I am _insulted!_ When have _I_ ever been weird about anything?” A few feathers fell off of his costume as he spoke.

“You’re being weird right now!”

“Okay, both of you need to calm down,” Bea said, looking as though she might fight someone if they didn’t. 

“I’m not the one who’s not calm here!” Freddie yelled.

“Yes, you are! You both are!” Bea said, her own voice beginning to rise.

Peter didn’t feel that invested in this conversation, but he knew this could go on forever if he didn’t butt in. “So when are we going to meet this man of mystery?” he asked.

“Person of mystery,” Freddie corrected. “He said he’d meet us here—”

“Hey,” said someone from nearby. He approached the group and stood next to Fred. “You must be the flatmates. I’m Kit.”

Peter frowned. That sounded familiar. “Your name’s Kit?” he asked. 

“Short for Kitso. Kit works better for me because it’s more gender neutral,” he clarified.

“I think I know one of your flatmates,” Peter said. It would have been nice not to mention this, but Balthazar had told Kit his name, so it was inevitable that he’d find out the truth. It’d seem much weirder if Peter didn’t mention it now. 

Kit seemed to tense up slightly, but Peter figured he might be stressed enough about this situation that he was imagining things. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Balthazar Jones? You live together, right?”

Kit relaxed. “Oh, you know the _good_ flatmate,” he said. “I was worried you were friends with one of the others and I’d have to pretend to be polite about it.

Peter laughed. “Yeah, Balthazar mentioned that you don’t really like the other people you live with.”

Kit shrugged. “We took a bit of a risk living with people we didn’t know very well and it’s not going how we expected. Balthazar’s great, though. We’ve been friends since we were kids.”

“Oh yeah?” Peter asked.

“What’s your name? I don’t think Balth’s brought you around.”

“Peter Donaldson. We met sort of recently.” Peter had to resist the urge to look away. He had nothing to hide, he reminded himself.

Kit smiled. “Oh, you’re the guy he went off with after Paige’s party.”

Bea and Freddie all turned to stare at Peter. Ben turned too, once he had figured out how to move without his costume hitting anyone.

Freddie groaned. “You fooled around with one of Kit’s flatmates?” Freddie asked. She buried her face in her hands. “Oh, this is going to make things so _awkward_.”

“We _didn’t_ fool around,” Peter said defensively. “I don’t fool around with every person I hang out with. Not that it’d be _any_ of your business if I did.”

“Hold on, how come Kit got to hear about this and we didn’t?” Ben asked.

“Ben!” Bea said, slapping him hard on the shoulder. “Peter doesn’t have to tell you where he is at all hours of the day.”

“I only know about it Balthazar texted me to let me know where he was,” Kit said with his slow, reassuring voice. “He doesn’t stay out late that much and he knew I’d be worried if I didn’t hear from him.”

“And I never told you because it _never came up,_ ” Peter said, crossing his arms. “It’s not like you tell me every detail of your life.”

“No, I suppose I don’t,” Ben admitted. “But why wouldn’t you have texted _us_ so _we_ would know you’re safe? This Balthazar figure could have murdered you, and Meg, Freddie, and I’d have been none the wiser.”

“Do you really want me to text you every time I’m out late?” Peter asked.

Ben considered this. “Not really, no,” he said.

“Okay, so there’s no problem then,” Peter said firmly. “Besides, I’m sure Kit would much rather hear you introduce yourself than chew me out for non-existent problems.”

“Sorry about that,” Ben said to Kit. “Benedick Hobbes, at your service.” He did something that was probably an attempt at a bow, but because of the unwieldiness of his costume didn’t work.

“And I’m Beatrice,” Bea said. “Sorry my boyfriend’s being such a dick this evening.”

“Meg’s around here somewhere,” Freddie said. “She arrived with us but I haven’t seen her since.”

“She went to say hi to Jaquie,” Ben said. “She probably won’t be back for a while.” 

Kit turned to Peter. “You know, Balthazar’s around here somewhere,” he said. “If you wanted to say hi.” Peter opened his mouth to say that really, it wasn’t necessary, but before he could do so Kit had said, “Oh, he’s right over there. Balthazar!” he called, signaling for him to come over. Peter shut his eyes for a second, wishing himself anywhere but there. 

“Yeah?” Balthazar asked. “Hey, I’ve been looking for you—” It was at that moment that he noticed Peter. “Oh. Hi.”

“Hey,” Peter said, inwardly wincing. With his luck, Balthazar would say something about what had happened and everyone would know how much of an idiot he’d been.

“I didn’t know you were here,” Balthazar said in a level tone. “I’d have come over sooner.”

“I guess now you have,” Peter said. “I should really go, I promised Jaquie we’d hang out.” He gestured across the room to where Jaquie and Meg were sitting. They’d would be pissed at the interruption, but both of them would understand, they always did. 

“Sure,” Balthazar said with a slight nod.. “I guess I’ll catch you later then.”

“Definitely,” Peter said.

“I’m going to get something to drink,” Bea said. “Ben?” she asked, giving him a pointed look.

“Right!” Ben said. “Peter, I’m coming with you. To say hi to Meg. Oh,” he said, turning to Balthazar. “I’m Ben, by the way. One of Peter’s flatmates.”

“Good to meet you,” Balthazar said.

“We’ll see you around, then,” Peter said, turning and walking away. 

Ben wasn’t able to move through the crowd very quickly in his costume, but caught up to Peter through sheer determination. When Balthazar and Kit were out of earshot, he said, “Do you need to hang out with Jaquie right away, or do you have a minute to talk?”

“I guess Jaquie can wait,” Peter said. “What’s up?”

“I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about something,” Ben said, steering him to a corner of the room without many people. “I keep putting it off but Bea says I have to do it tonight. She showed me this article the other day, it’s one that Meg wrote. The one about unintentional biphobia?”

“Oh yeah,” Peter said. “I think I remember her saying she’d be writing something like that. I didn’t know she’d finished it, though.” The conversation had been a bit weird, really, Meg asking him for advice on what to say when she was usually so confident in her writing. 

“Well, she did, and Bea had me read it, and I realized that I may have said some stupid things.”

Peter just stared at Ben. “It took Meg writing a magazine article to make you realize that?”

“Oh, be quiet, I’m trying to apologize here.”

“Okay.” Peter crossed his arms and waited.

Ben sighed. “What I’m trying to say is that I’ve been a dick, all right? The things I said about your sex life were completely out of line, and according to Meg’s article they play into awful cultural assumptions about bisexual people, and I shouldn’t have said any of it. And I won’t anymore. And I’m sorry.”

Peter opened his mouth to say something snarky, then closed it when he caught the seriousness of Ben’s face. “You really are, aren’t you?” he asked instead. “Thanks. Although, it’s a bit weird to have you apologizing to me while looking like that.”

Ben ignored the dig at his costume. “Honestly, I wish I’d realized it sooner. I knew it was bothering you, but I didn’t know why so I sort of brushed it aside and didn’t really think about it. That’s not a particularly productive solution to most problems, as it turns out.” He nodded vigorously, headpiece bobbing as he did so.

“Shocking,” Peter said, trying not to laugh.

“I think there was another reason, too,” Ben said, “I wasn’t sure I wanted to say this, but Bea said that after how I’ve treated you I should tell you all of it.”

“What is it?”

“Well, as it turns out, there’s a _slight_ chance that I might be asexual. And when I say slight chance, I mean I definitely am but I didn’t have words for it for a really, _really_ long time. So when I saw you going out and having sex with all of those people, I kept thinking that there was something wrong with me for not wanting that and I ended up turning it around on you. Which is wrong, obviously, and doesn’t excuse it at all, but you should know that that’s a part of it.”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “So, you felt like there was something wrong with you so you tried to act like there was something wrong with me?”

“I’m not saying I’m proud of it. And I’m _really_ sorry.” 

“No, I actually think I get it,” Peter said. He remembered nights during high school when he had just laid in bed, staring at the ceiling and feeling incredibly mixed up about everything because Pedro Donaldson could not be anything other than an upright heterosexual. “Don’t get me wrong, you handled it like a complete dick, but it’s not like I’ve never handled anything badly.”

“Thanks, Peter,” Ben said, his relief clear. 

“No problem. Was that all, or can I go see Jaquie now?” 

Ben sighed dramatically. “Go, see Jaquie, let her introduce you to the love of your life. I’ll just be across the room with Beatrice bemoaning the fact that you have never once let me set you up with anyone, even after the stunt you pulled getting us together.”

“I highly doubt that this guy is going to turn out to be the love of my life,” Peter said. “I’ll see you later, then?”

“We do live together, so I suppose we’ll have to run into each other eventually,” Ben said gravely, before waddling off through the crowd.

Peter just rolled his eyes and walked across the room to Meg and Jaquie, who were deep in conversation. “Hey,” he said, sitting on the arm of their couch. They stopped talking when he approached. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Jaquie said quickly. She was dressed as a pirate, with an eyepatch over one eye and a very dramatic pair of boots.

Peter frowned. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” Meg said. “Did you want something, babes?”

“Okay, so clearly I _am_ interrupting something,” Peter said. “Sorry, I was just trying to get away from the others. Besides, Jaquie said there was a guy she wanted to introduce me to.”

Jaquie looked at him blankly for a moment, then smiled. “Oh, right, Costa,” she said. “He didn’t end up coming after all. He decided to make a list of every possible way to convey emotions without words, only he picked really difficult emotions like ‘the anxiety of guilt and condemnation’ so it’s taking longer than he thought it would. He’s at home working on it now.”

“Oh,” Peter said. Jaquie and Meg looked at each other as though trying to communicate with their eyes.

Jaquie looked back at him. “Costa wanted me to give you this,” she said quickly. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “It’s a casting call for the play he’s doing when Faustus ends. He wants to do an adaptation of Waiting for Godot where all of the characters are cats. I told him that was more of Chelsey’s thing than yours, but he asked me to pass this on anyway.”

Peter laughed and took the piece of paper. “Thanks, I guess.” He sat there for a moment, waiting for the conversation to pick up again, but it didn’t. “I’m gonna go find Ben,” he said once the silence had gone on for just long enough to be uncomfortable.

“Bye,” Meg said, giving him a little wave. 

Unsure of what else to do, Peter sought out the drink table and grabbed a bottle of beer. The couches were full of people, so he found an empty space against a wall and sat against it. At least he had something to drink. Across the room, he saw Ben making his way awkwardly through the crowd towards Bea, hitting at least three people with his costume as he did so.

Peter watched the crowd change as people moved and others took their places. He watched Jaquie and Meg, deep in conversation, Jaquie and Meg, kissing, and how long had this been going on without noticing? How many things had he forgotten to notice?

The sound of footsteps near him made Peter look up. “Hey,” Kit said, sitting down next to him. 

“Hey,” Peter replied. He stared back down at his beer. For some reason, it didn’t bother him that Kit was seeing him like this, some of the walls down in a way they shouldn’t be. Somehow, it felt like he could be trusted with this.

Kit waited a few minutes before speaking. When he did, he said, “Look, I know it’s not my business, and I don’t usually involve myself in other people’s lives this way, but I think you should talk to Balthazar.”

Peter’s heart sped up. “Why’s that?”

“So, Balthazar didn’t tell me everything that happened after Paige’s party, but his lyrics have gotten much more personal than usual and that’s usually a sign that there’s something he’s not talking about. His last one mentioned something about a park and skinned knees?”

Peter felt as though he might cry. “Look,” he said, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do,” Kit said calmly. “Look, talk to him, don’t talk to him, whatever. I just wanted you to know that if you want to talk, I think he’d be open to it. I also wanted to say that I think you might be good for him.”

Peter laughed out loud, then took a sip of beer. His chest felt tight. “Trust me, I wouldn’t.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Kit said. “But you won’t know unless you try.” He got up. “I should go find Freddie. Balthazar’s in the kitchen with Chelsey if you decide you’re interested.”

Peter watched Kit walk away, his mind going way too fast. _Did_ he want to talk to Balthazar? Maybe if they talked, he could stop running through their last encounter in his head. He could at least end things on a less embarrassing note, show that he could be a good sport. 

What really decided the matter was that he honestly had nothing better to do. Anyway, acting was better than not-acting, which meant that going to the kitchen to talk to Balthazar was better than sitting by himself feeling shitty about things. Peter stood up slowly, leaving his half-empty bottle of beer behind him.

As he walked past the drink table, Peter slipped his hand around the neck of an unopened bottle of wine. He went into the kitchen, where Balthazar was sitting on the table with a guitar, talking to a girl Peter was pretty sure was Paige’s girlfriend. 

He stood there for a moment, feeling awkward, then cleared his throat. “Could I, um, talk to Balthazar for a bit?”

They turned to look at him. “Oh, sure!” Chelsey said quickly. “I can go. Is that okay, Balthy?”

“Yeah, that’d be good,” Balthazar said with a nod. “I’ll catch you later, yeah?”

“Yeah!”

Peter waited for Chelsey to leave, then made his way to the table where Balthazar was sitting. He kept his eyes trained everywhere but Balthazar’s face, unwilling to make eye contact. “Kit said you’d maybe want to talk,” he said. “So I came to ask if you did. Want to talk, I mean. If you don’t, that’s fine too.”

“I could talk,” Balthazar said, nodding. “Is here fine, or do you want to go somewhere?”

“It’s kind of crowded in here, don’t you think?” Peter asked. They were the only people in the kitchen and it was still too crowded. Anyone could come in at any time and everything would be thrown out of sync. “Could we—maybe go outside or something?”

“Yeah, we could do that,” Balthazar said. “You’ll have to come up with the place this time, though. I don’t know anywhere in the neighborhood.”

“Shit,” Peter said. “Sorry, give me a sec.”

“Take your time,” Balthazar said. He strummed a few notes on his guitar as Peter tried to think.   
_Fuck._ He should know of some place they could go, especially this close to his own flat, but there was nothing. He almost suggested the flat itself, but that would sound too much like an invitation and Balthazar had made it clear that that wasn’t what he wanted. “What if we just walk around until we find somewhere?” he said.

“All right,” Balthazar agreed. “Not sure how far I really feel like lugging this around,” he said, gesturing at his guitar case. “But I suppose if we don’t find anywhere we can always come back here.”

Peter’s chest tightened even further at the thought of returning. “Okay, then,” he said. “Can we leave right away, or do you need to let someone know where you’re going?”

Balthazar shrugged. “We can leave now if you want. If you and Kit have already spoken he’ll know I probably left with you. Um, are you bringing that along?” he asked, nodding towards Peter’s hand.

Peter looked down at the bottle of wine, which he’d forgotten he was holding. “Might as well,” he said. “I don’t have any way to open it, thought.”

“I have a corkscrew in my guitar case,” Balthazar said. “Well, a pocket knife really, but there’s a corkscrew on it.”

“Well, you’re prepared for anything then, aren’t you?” Peter asked. He laughed to cover up for how awkward he knew he sounded.

“I try to be,” Balthazar said. He hopped off the table and put his guitar in its case, handling it as though it were something incredibly precious. “All right, I’m ready then,” he said after latching it shut.

They went back through the living room on the way outside. Peter kept his eyes trained on his destination, avoiding eye contact with anyone he knew just in case he’d be able to tell what they were thinking about him. He didn’t want to know.

When they got outside, Peter shut the door firmly behind them. They set off down the street. Peter kept trying to think of something to say, but words escaped him.

“It’s a nice night,” Balthazar said after a bit.

Peter nodded his agreement. “Not as cold as it’s been.”

They lapsed back into silence, until suddenly, Balthazar pointed across the road towards a chain link fence. “What about there?” he asked, pointing beyond it to a grassy field. “It looks pretty deserted.”

Peter considered this. “You think you can get over the fence with your guitar?” he asked.

Balthazar tilted his head and looked at the fence. “You go first,” he said. “It doesn’t look that tall, I could probably pass my guitar over it to you.”

“You sure you want to trust me with that?” 

“You seem like you could handle that responsibility,” Balthazar said. “Besides, if you hurt it I can always send Paige after you. She takes it the ill-treatment of instruments very seriously.”

“Okay, then,” Peter said. “Let’s get a closer look though first, all right?”

“Yeah.”

They approached the fence. It stood only a foot or so above Peter’s head, and didn’t seem to provide that much of a barrier to entrance. Still, Peter hesitated. “Are you sure this isn’t private property?” he asked.

Balthazar looked unconcerned. “I mean, it probably is but it looks like it’s been abandoned. There aren’t any signs or anything. If we’re caught we could always say we didn’t know.”

Peter shook his head, laughing. “You know this is a terrible idea, right?”

“Probably,” Balthazar said, joining in the laughter. “I don’t mind though, do you?”

“Not at all, I love terrible ideas,” Peter said. He reached out and put his hands on the top of the fence, then quickly climbed over it. Once on the other side, he said, “Hand me your guitar.”

Balthazar approached the fence, got up on his tiptoes, and held the guitar as high as his arms could reach. Peter leaned in to grab it, and for a moment they made eye contact through the bars of the fence. Peter inhaled sharply.

After a moment, Balthazar said, “You should probably look up if you want to grab ahold of it,” and Peter remembered what they were doing.

“Right,” he said, looking up and wrapping his hands around the guitar case. Because Balthazar had held the guitar so gently, Peter did too, bringing it down and holding it by the handle instead of setting it on the ground. He stepped back to leave room for Balthazar to climb the fence.

“Here goes, then,” Balthazar said quietly, and pulled his body up over the fence. His movements were reasonably graceful until his foot snagged on the top off the fence and he barely avoided falling wrong. He stumbled when he landed, and Peter put out his free hand to help him get his balance. “Thanks.”

“So, what now?” Peter asked, letting go. 

“We could have a bit of a look around,” Balthazar suggested. 

“We’d have to be careful not to get too far from the streetlights,” Peter said. “It’s pretty dark, I don’t want to get lost and die out here.”

“Well, there goes my big plans for the evening,” Balthazar joked. He fiddled with one of his sleeves, and the realization that he was _nervous_ hit Peter like a punch in the gut. “Actually, I have a flashlight in my guitar case. If you were interested in looking around.”

Peter stared at him. “You have a _flashlight_ with you?”

Balthazar shrugged awkwardly. “The last party I went to was the one where we ended up going to the park, and I remembered thinking of how helpful a flashlight would have been, so I put one in my case on the off chance that I needed it.”

“That’s—that’s brilliant, actually,” Peter said. “Yeah, let’s do a bit of exploring. Why not?” He handed the guitar case over and Balthazar took it, opening it up to take out a flashlight.

They started off through the field, content in silence. Peter held the flashlight, pointing it in all directions as they decided which ways they wanted to go. When the light began to reflect off of something they went to investigate, and found themselves in front of a small pond.

“You’d have no idea this was here from the road,” Peter pointed out.

“No, you wouldn’t. It’s too bad we don’t have any food with us,” Balthazar said. “This would be a really nice place for a picnic.”

“Oh, so there is _something_ in the known universe that you don’t have with you in that guitar case?” Peter asked.

“Sadly, I did not think to bring a picnic with me to a Halloween party, no,” Balthazar said. “I’ll have to remember this place though, it’d be really nice in the daytime.”

Peter looked at the way the moon glinted off of the water and the trees that stood behind the pond, protecting it. “It’s nice at night,” he said. Probably better at night, but he didn’t say that. 

“So, you wanted to talk?” Balthazar asked.

Peter had almost forgotten that that was how this whole thing had started. “Maybe we should sit down,” he said. “And open the wine. If you want to, I mean. We don’t have to drink to have this conversation. That would be building it up too much.”

“No, that’s a good idea, actually. Let’s open the wine,” Balthazar said. He set his guitar case on the ground and sat next to it, digging the pocket. “Here we go,” he said, pulling out a Swiss army knife. “Are you going to sit down? It was your idea.”

“Right.” Peter lowered himself next to Balthazar, angling his body so that he too was looking out at the water. Balthazar managed to get the cork off of the bottle of wine and passed it over to him.

Peter took a large gulp from the bottle, then passed it back. “I don’t actually know what I wanted to say,” he admitted. “Kit thought we should clear the air, but I’m not quite sure how to do that.”

“Well, there must have been something that you thought needed saying, yeah? Otherwise you wouldn’t have asked me to come here.”

“That’s true,” Peter said. “I guess I just—I want you to know that it wasn’t just about sex. The reason I asked you to leave Paige’s party, I mean. I know how it must have seemed but—that really wasn’t what it was. You should know that.” God, he sounded like Ben. Peter shut his mouth to avoid rambling further.

Balthazar nodded slowly, as though taking this in. “I should probably apologize for that. Jumping to conclusions, I mean.”

“It probably made sense, given the context.”

“Maybe. Honestly, I think I was just too surprised at the idea that you’d suggest sex to think through whether that was really what you were trying to say.”

“Not really one for causal hookups, then?” Peter asked, taking another sip of wine.

“Not really, no. I mean, I’m demi so I don’t think I’d really enjoy it.”

“Demi?”

Balthazar looked down. “Demisexual, yeah. It means I don’t feel sexual attraction to people I don’t have emotional bonds with. So the whole casual thing just doesn’t really work for me.”

“Oh.” Peter wanted to say it was okay, that Balthazar didn’t have to feel uncomfortable telling him this, but he didn’t know how to say it without making him feel even more awkward so he kept his mouth shut. 

“Don’t get me wrong, it doesn’t bother me that other people enjoy it, it’s just not for me. So when you asked me to come home with you it felt like you expected me to be some way that I wasn’t. But I shouldn’t have assumed you were talking about sex without asking what you meant.”

Peter looked away. “It was what I meant, in the moment. But it wasn’t the whole reason I was hanging out with you.”

“Why were you, then?” Balthazar asked. He took the bottle but didn’t drink, instead running his finger absently along the rim.

“I guess I was just lonely,” Peter admitted. “And you were talking to me like you actually cared what I had to say.” _Too much,_ he warned himself. Forcing a more lighthearted tone, he added, “Besides, you have that whole air of mystery about you.”

“Right, of course. The mysterious Balthazar, that’s what they call me.” Balthazar glanced warily at the bottle of wine, then surprised Peter by taking a rather large sip. 

“Anyway, I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable,” Peter said. He looked at the pond, then beyond the pond at the trees that surrounded it, the way they moved like banshees in the moonlight. Perfect for the night of a too-early Halloween party that you leave long before the ending.

“It’s all right,” Balthazar said. “I’m sorry for making you feel like you’d done something wrong.” 

“Apologies all around, then,” Peter said, still not looking at Balthazar. 

“Is this what you’d call an apology party?” 

Peter felt as though all of the blood had been drained from his body. He took the wine back, but didn’t drink it. “No,” he said firmly. “At an apology part you say you’re sorry to everyone, and they say they forgive you but they don’t and since none of the rest of them fucked up like you did they have nothing to apologize for.”

“That’s very specific,” Balthazar said gently. He touched Peter’s hand for a moment. “So what was it?”

“What are you talking about?” Peter asked. His voice sounded harsh to his own ears.

“That you had to apologize for.”

Peter gripped the bottle of wine, pictured throwing it out in the water, or better yet, smashing it against a rock. He pictured the look of disappointment on Balthazar’s face when he realized that there was no right answer to the question. He pictured the even worse look on Balthazar’s face when he realized that there _was_ a right answer, but not a good one. Not one that would make anyone feel any better about anything.

“Why do you want to know?” he asked, loosening his hold on the bottle.

Balthazar shrugged. “Just seems like it’s on your mind.”

“Well, it’s not.”

“All right, then.” Balthazar reopened he guitar case and pulled out the instrument, as if he didn’t care at all what the answer to his question had been. “I won’t bring it up, if you don’t want to talk about it.”

_No._ Balthazar wasn’t supposed to give in like that. He was supposed to fight back, argue, _make_ Peter tell the truth. Then Peter could get angry and refuse to tell but it’d be okay because he’d have something to fight against, some antagonist outside of his own fucking mind.

“Do you want to hear a story?” Peter asked abruptly. He stood and started pacing, keeping his eyes trained on the water. Let Balthazar know, if he wanted to so badly. Let him know how much of a fuck-up Peter was so that he’d go away and leave him in peace. “You told me a story last time, so it’s my turn to tell one, right?”

“Only if you want to,” Balthazar said. When Peter glanced at him, his eyes were trained on the strings of his guitar. “I don’t want you to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No, you should hear this. It’s a good one,” Peter said, laughing harshly. “Lots of drama. High emotional stakes. Are you ready?”

“If you want to tell it, I suppose I have to be.”

Peter ignored Balthazar’s tone. “Okay. So, once upon a time, was there this boy, yeah? A goddamn golden boy. Everybody’s type, or some bullshit like that. Beautiful and athletic, and everybody loved him. He was so _fucking_ perfect that they made him football captain _and_ student leader. Could have been the strapping male protagonist in some shitty movie. You know the type of guy I’m talking about.”

“I do,” Balthazar said cautiously. “Peter, are you sure you—”

Peter held up a hand. “I’m not done with the story yet. Anyway, I’ve changed my mind.” He resumed his pacing, moving even faster this time. “He’s not a high schooler after all, he’s a prince. So there’s this prince, yeah, and everyone thinks he’s perfect, and he thinks he’s perfect, and the only person who knows the truth is his brother. Oh, and, the prince knows too, of course. He knows how fucking selfish he is, how much he hurts people, but he figures that if he just hides it from everyone no one will have to know what he’s really like. He thinks he can change what he is, can you fucking believe that?”

Peter started laughing, a dry, hard laugh that made his chest ache. “He thinks he can change what he is,” he repeated. He stopped walking and instead stood staring at the pond, fists clenched. “But he can’t. He can’t fucking do it, and the more his brother tries to make him see what’s happening, the more he gets hurt. And the prince ignores it, and his brother keeps getting hurt worse and worse until _he_ lashes out and hurts someone else. People the prince actually cares about, since he knows the prince doesn’t give a shit about him.”

“Peter, don’t do this to yourself.”

“Hold on, story’s almost over. So John, the Prince’s brother, he lashes out, yeah? He tricks the prince into hurting people because he’s been hurt. And like a complete idiot, the prince falls for it, and he fucks over everyone, and even when people tell him he’s got it all wrong, he just keeps on going until John tells him the truth. It’s like a castle. Yeah, that’s what it is. He builds a castle out of his _fucking ego_ because he’s so sure he’s right about everything, and it’s not until it starts to crumble that he realizes it wasn’t ever real.” Peter stopped talking. There were tears sliding down his cheeks, and he was glad he’d already been facing away from Balthazar.

After a long pause, Balthazar spoke again. “So what happened next?”

“John ran away from home,” Peter said. He reached up a hand and angrily wiped away his tears. “And I—I mean the prince—he didn’t know what to do. And then John came back, and everyone apologized to everyone and they all said it was fine. But it wasn’t. They stopped talking about it because it was easier, but it doesn’t mean things are fixed.” He wiped his face again, harder this time. “The end.”

“Is it?” Balthazar asked thoughtfully. “I dunno. I think stories should have happy endings. Maybe there’s more in store for this prince, and he just doesn’t know about it yet.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Peter said, feeling exhausted, like he’d just tried to run a marathon or something. He sat back down on the ground, trusting the dark to hide his tear-streaked face. “I’m tired of this story, anyway.”

They didn’t talk for a while after that, alternating sips of wine from the bottle. Peter was careful not to get drunk, but consumed enough that after a little while, his chest stopped feeling so tight and his heartrate slowed. The edges of things began to soften.

After a little while, he decided he should say something. “I like it here,” he said. “It’s nice.”

“Yeah, it is. Peaceful,” Balthazar said. 

“Good company, too.” Peter said with a small smile. After all, it wasn’t Balthazar’s fault that he’d said all of those things, let all of the awful things inside of him out in the open. Being with Balthazar was better than being left alone with the mess that was Peter Donaldson.

“I won’t argue with that,” Balthazar said. He set his guitar back in its case and latched it.

Peter’s smile slid from his face. “Are you—leaving?” he asked, trying not to let his voice convey how vulnerable he felt.

“Nah, just didn’t feel like holding it any more. I keep feeling like I’m going to do something stupid and it’ll end up in the water and be ruined. I mean, I have another one, but it gets slightly different sound.” Balthazar set the case off to the side and stretched his legs out in the empty space where it had been.

“Oh.” Peter relaxed.

“Had you worried there for a minute, huh?” Balthazar asked.

“I just don’t want you to leave without me,” Peter said. Balthazar suddenly felt way too far away. Peter wanted to move closer, wanted to be touching. “And I’m not ready to leave yet.” He leaned closer, wishing he knew what the rules were. 

_Fuck rules_

“We’ll have to go home eventually, you know,” Balthazar pointed out.

“Yeah, of course. But not now.” Peter summoned up his courage and slowly moved so that he could lay his head on Balthazar’s lap. His heart raced, and he half expected Balthazar to get angry or pull away. 

Instead, Balthazar’s fingers slid into Peter’s hair as though this was something they did all the time. “No, not now,” he agreed. “We still have time.”

Peter closed his eyes tightly, refusing to think about all of the emotions this small gesture had triggered. Instead, he focused purely sensations: Balthazar’s fingers stroking his hair, the soft pressure on his scalp. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this close to somebody.

_I’m not supposed to be feeling anything like this._

_I don’t deserve anything like this._

He made no move to pull away.

“What’s your favorite color?” Balthazar said, fingers still carding through Peter’s hair.

“What?” Peter asked.

“What’s your favorite color?” Balthazar repeated.

“No, I heard you. I mean, why do you want to know?”

Balthazar laughed. “Why not?” 

Normally Peter would have found some way to argue, but to his surprise words came tumbling out of his mouth. “Blue. Like your eyes.” 

Balthazar’s hand stopped moving.

“What about you?” Peter asked. “And keep doing that thing with your hand, I liked that.”

“All right,” Balthazar said. His hand resumed its motions. “I don’t really know. I have a lot of favorites. It’d probably be green or blue, though. Colors that show up a lot in nature.”

“That suits you,” Peter said. “Tell me more things.” _Tell me everything._

“Give me a minute to think about that,” Balthazar said. “Well, I’m a vegetarian. Trying to go vegan, but I’m still not sure how that’s going to go. It’s harder than it sounds.”

Peter closed his eyes as Balthazar continued to talk. He listened to him describing his family, his siblings, his life in Wellington. 

“Then there’s Kit, of course,” he said once he had named every sibling. “We’ve been friends forever. Met at music camp when we were three.”

“Three?” Peter asked. “God, you really are some kind of prodigy.”

“Not really. I went for two days and then they told my parents I shouldn’t come anymore because every time they sat me in front of the piano I started crying. I knew how I wanted it to sound, but I couldn’t make it come out the way it was in my head.”

Peter laughed. “You got kicked out of music camp?” 

Balthazar’s fingers continued their lazy circles. “I suppose so, yeah. But I met Kit there, and we decided we were going to be friends so his parents brought him over every day after the camp and he showed me all of the things he’d learned. After a few years I got better than him at some things so we’d trade off teaching each other. It was cool, Kit’s cool.”

“Why’d your parents send you? Like, did they know you were going to be this amazing musician and want to prepare you for it?”

“Well, I don’t know about amazing,” Balthazar said. “And no, it was actually my idea. My parents thought I was too young, even for a kid’s music camp, and of course they were right, but I was determined to go. If it hadn’t been for the dreaded piano, I might have made it through, too. I think it was really a camp for older kids though, everyone besides me and Kit was at least five.”

“Still pretty young. Guess I was doing football camp around age five, though.”

“Do you still play?”

Peter shrugged, his shoulders bumping into Balthazar’s legs when he did so. “Not really anymore. I guess I got tired of it. It was fun for a while, but that’s not really me anymore.”

“Makes sense. Most people don’t end up liking the same things their whole lives, yeah?”

“You do, though. You’re still playing music.” 

“Yeah, but I used to want to be in the circus and I don’t want that anymore. Just because some things are the same doesn’t mean that everything is.”

Peter laughed. They lapsed back into silence, a good, comfortable sort of silence in which they drank wine and nobody had to apologize to anybody else. Peter felt as though he could easily fall asleep there and wake up the next morning and not be a bit sorry about it.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Balthazar said out of nowhere.

“What isn’t?” Something about Balthazar’s tone made Peter sit up and pull away to look at him.

“Your brother running away. Yeah, you may have screwed up somewhere along the line, but that doesn’t mean you made it happen. It’s more complicated than that.”

“Seems pretty straightforward to me,” Peter said stiffly. “I made him feel like shit, and he left. What’s complicated about that?”

“Yeah, but I mean, you can’t blame yourself for what other people do.”

“I can if it’s my fault,” Peter said. He took a large swig from the bottle of wine. It burned in his throat, but he pretended it didn’t, embarrassed that it could still hurt him like this no matter how many nights he went out and did hours of shots. “Besides, he wasn’t the only one who got hurt. He made it look like my friend’s girlfriend was cheating on him, and I got carried away and yelled at her in the middle of her birthday party. She hadn’t even done anything, that’s the really fucked up part.”

“Sounds like it’s more your brother’s fault for tricking you, then,” Balthazar said mildly.

Nausea rose in Peter’s throat. “No, it wasn’t! He only did it because I wasn’t paying any attention to him! If I’d taken better care of him, if I’d been able to tell that there was something going on, none of it would have happened.” 

“Okay, so say it is your fault,” Balthazar said. “Are you going to blame yourself for it forever?”

_Yes._

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Peter snapped. “But it’s my choice, not yours, okay?”

“I just don’t want to see you hurting yourself over something that you can’t control.”

“I could’ve controlled it.”

“Yeah, but that’s beside the point. There’s nothing you can do about it _now,_ and making yourself miserable isn’t helping anything.”

“You know what?” Peter said, rising to his feet. “I don’t need this. This is actually the _last_ thing I need right now, all right? That’s why I fucking came here with you.” A tiny voice inside of Peter told him to stop, but he was a bicycle going down a hill, gaining unwanted momentum with every moment. “You think you’re special, you think I’m hanging out with you because I like you better than everyone else? The only reason I’m here with you and not with my friends is that you’re not a part of this bullshit. You weren’t there for any of it, and you can’t fucking understand any of it, so why don’t you back the fuck and leave me alone?”

Balthazar looked down at his hands. His jacket sleeves were too big and had fallen over them, and for some reason the sight of this sent a pang through Peter’s body. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t need it,” Peter said, clenching his fists so tight that his nails dug into his palms. “All I want is to be left alone.”

“That’s what you want, sure,” Balthazar said. “Is it what you _need,_ though?”

“Oh, fuck off, Balthazar,” Peter said. He picked the bottle of wine off the ground, the bottle that was still a quarter of the way full, and chugged the whole thing. This time it didn’t hurt at all. It didn’t feel like anything. “I’m ready to go home now.”

This time, he couldn’t run away and leave Balthazar behind. Instead they walked together, illuminated by the single flashlight, and when they made it to the fence Peter helped lift the guitar to the other side, and the entire time, neither of them said a single word.

When he got home, Peter looked down at the empty wine bottle in his hand, then threw it into the recycling bin that Freddie had insisted on getting, threw it so hard that it smashed into pieces.

He considered leaving it be, but a few sleepless hours later he got back up and cleared away the glass so that nobody else would get hurt.


	3. Understand

**November**

Peter stared into his beer and wished that he was anywhere but here. He’d only been at Balthazar’s birthday party half an hour and already he was sitting alone, watching his friends pair up. Bea had returned to Wellington last week but even Ben had found someone to talk to, managing to insert himself into Paige and Chelsey’s conversation. And Balthazar—well, he had been across the room somewhere, but somewhere between avoiding eye contact with and pretending to talk to other people Peter had lost track of him. By the time he’d found a quiet place against the wall, Balthazar was nowhere in sight.

What was wrong with him? Peter had used to love going out every night, running around with people he barely knew. When had it stopped being fun?

Had it ever really been fun?

It had, Peter decided. Once upon a time, he’d gone to parties every night and thought that it was going to change things, that he could reinvent himself into someone he liked better. As though making his life different was just a matter of pumping enough vodka into his body. For a little while, he’d really thought things would be different. But nothing had changed, except for the looks of increasing worry from Freddie and Ben before they’d given up on him altogether.

Coming tonight was a stupid idea. He _wouldn’t_ have come, if it hadn’t been for Kit’s quiet insistence.  
  
  
  
  
It had been a little over a week ago that Kit had come over to watch a movie with the flat. Ben was setting up the computer when Kit mentioned that they should come to the party.

“So, my flatmate Balthazar is having a birthday soon and he said I could invite you guys,” Kit said. He was sitting on the second couch next to Freddie. “It’ll be at our flat on the seventh. Freddie knows how to get there.”

“ _Peter’s_ Balthazar?” Ben asked, turning away from his computer to raise an eyebrow.

Peter flushed. “He’s not _my_ Balthazar, I just know him.”

“ _And_ left yet another party with this man of mystery. I saw you two, sneaking out of Jaquie’s together.”

“Oh, shut up, Ben,” Meg said, tossing an arm around Peter’s shoulder. “We _all_ know Peter’s saving himself for me.”

“Wait, but aren’t you and Jaquie—you know?” Fred asked. 

Meg grinned. “Yes, I _am_ taken, and poor Peter’s just _pining_ after me, aren’t you, Peter?” She wigged her eyebrows for good measure.

“Of course. I mean, how could I not fall in love with someone who wears even more black than I do?” Peter said, shooting Meg a grateful smile for her change of subject.

“Anyway, the party starts at nine,” Kit continued, as though he hadn’t been interrupted. 

“What about your awful flatmates?” Freddie asked. “Are they going to be there? I don’t like the way they _look_ at me when I’m over there.” She picked up a blanket off the floor and pulled it over herself and Kit.

Kit shook his head. “Balthazar’s sister got them tickets to a concert so they’d stay out of the house. Rosa will be there though, that’s the sister. She’s kind of intimidating, but she really loves Balth, so I think it’ll be good.”

“Well, I will definitely be there,” Fred said. “I can bring anyone else in the flat who wants to come along. Right, guys?” She looked to the group for confirmation. 

“Can Jaquie come?” Meg asked. 

“Yeah, I’m sure Balthazar won’t mind,” Kit said. “Tell her Chelsey and Paige will be there, I think they’re all in some sort of play together.”

“Faustus,” Peter said. Jaquie had tried to persuade him to audition way back in August, but at the last minute he’d decided that he didn’t feel like going. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” Kit said. “So, you’ll all let me know if you’re coming?”

“I’ll text you once everyone’s decided,” Freddie promised.

Ben put on the movie, and the conversation ended. Peter thought he was in the clear, but before Kit left the flat, he pulled him aside.

“I just want you to know that Balthazar really wants you to come to the party.”

“No he doesn’t,” Peter said.

“He actually said it, I’m not just guessing here,” Kit said. “He said he wished you would come, but for some reason he didn’t think you would.”

“He really hasn’t been telling you things, has he?” Peter asked.

“Balthazar prefers to talk about feelings than actual events,” Kit said. “I know he’s worried that you don’t want to be around him, but I don’t know why.”

Peter couldn’t quite bring himself to make eye contact. “All right,” he said, looking at Ben’s Doctor Who poster instead. “I’ll come. You can tell him, if you want.”

“Good,” Kit said, nodding. “He’ll be glad to see you. And I know my opinion may not mean anything to you, but I still think you’d be good for him.”  
  
  
  
  
So what had Peter done? Worn his favorite shirt with the blue flowers on it just so he’d make a good impression and then promptly chickened out of actually talking to Balthazar. 

_I didn’t chicken out,_ he reminded himself. _I just didn’t want to interrupt the conversation he was having._ Even in his own mind, the excuse fell flat. 

Peter could probably have spent the whole night there, staring at his beer, if Jaquie hadn’t called him over. When he heard her, he pulled himself to his feet and slowly walked over to where she was talking to a guy with dark, curly hair.

“Took you long enough to get here,” Jaquie said. “This is Costa. He’s the one I was telling you about last time. Costa, this is Peter.”

Costa turned and looked at Peter. “Peter Donaldson? The one who _refused_ to audition for Faustus despite your noble efforts?”

“Um, yes?” Jaquie said. 

Peter didn’t know what to say. He settled on, “Good to meet you, bro,” which sounded all wrong, but then, so did most things he said these days. It wasn’t like he cared what this guy thought anyway. A few weeks ago, when Jaquie had suggested introducing them, he’d thought maybe something could happen, but right now he didn’t care if it did. He was too tired to worry about being Peter right now, just as he’d gotten too tired to worry about being Pedro. He wondered if he’d ever get to be someone he wouldn’t become tired of.

Costa reached out and shook his hand enthusiastically, then dove right into talking. “You’ve received the flier for my adaptation of Waiting For Godot, yes?” he asked. “I’m looking for a Vladimir. It has to be someone who can really _fill a space,_ you know? But they also have to be dignified enough that they won’t seem ridiculous wearing a cat costume. It’s a very serious play, you know. Has Jaquie told you about my concept?” 

Peter was taken aback by the intensity of being directed at him, but managed to say, “Yeah, I think she mentioned it.” 

Jaquie rolled her eyes. “Right, I’m going to go back over to Meg. Have fun talking about the play,” she said, as though she weren’t abandoning Peter to possibly the most confusing conversation he could be having right now.

Costa waved her off and continued talking. “See, the play is about two men who wait for days for a man named Godot, who never arrives. Some people think that Godot is meant to symbolize God, so what I was thinking was, why not use this as a commentary on man’s relationship with God? And then I was thinking cats, everybody likes cats and a lot of people have them, so what if that was the metaphor I used? We are to God as our cats are to us, do you see?”

“Um, yeah,” Peter said, not at all sure he did. “Definitely.” Maybe he’d been wrong about Jaquie wanting to set them up at all, he realized. This didn’t seem like the sort of conversation two people would have who were interested in each other. There was no exchange of thoughts, no desire to know everything about each other, no _stories._

“Of course you do! I knew when Jaquie started talking about you that you’d be _perfect_ for this play. And this production is going to be _really fresh,_ even better than the time that I locked all of the doors during a production of No Exit so that the audience could _really feel_ what it was like to have no exit. Now, I know the cat thing sounds a _little_ out there, but I mean, if they could turn a play like Hamlet into The Lion King I think we can do this, don’t you?”

Peter looked around for a way out of the conversation. Jaquie had made it all the way across the room was now making out with Meg on one of the couches. Freddie and Kit were on the other side of the room talking. From how intensely Fred was gesturing and how chill Kit looked, it looked as if they were having two entirely different conversations. “That sounds great,” he said, turning back to Costa.

“Yes, it does, doesn’t it? Now, I don’t know how many people will audition, but there’s not many roles in Waiting For Godot anyway so we should be able to cover all of them. My hope is that we can get many, many people to audition and have them all walk through the scene occasionally, dressed as cats—I want it to feel really realistic, you know the way that cats move around and don’t follow directions? It needs to be like that.”

“What about the main characters?” Peter said, deciding that if he was going to get through this conversation he was just going to have to go all in. “Like, you need them onstage all of the time to deliver their lines, yeah? But if they’re cats, won’t they like, wander offstage and then back on all the time?”

Costa looked as though he were about to hug him. “Peter Donaldson, you’re a genius! This is _exactly_ the sort of thinking we need for this production. Now, I’m simply swamped with rehearsals for Faustus right now, but I was hoping to hold auditions sometime in the next week so that we can start work on this show the _minute_ curtains close on Faustus. Can I count on you to audition?”

_Shit._ Peter hadn’t counted on such a straightforward request. “I’m really not sure,” he said. “I’ll have to think about it.” He’d come so close to auditioning for Faustus, but the idea of committing to something new had seemed so overwhelming. How could he know he was ready for it now, when everything was feeling so complicated again?

“You must decide quickly,” Costa said. “Time if of the essence in the theater.”

Finally, _finally,_ Peter saw someone he recognized nearby. “Hey, Ben!” he called. Ben looked over. “This guy’s doing a production of Faustus, come talk to him!”

Ben was at their side in a second. “Did I hear you say you’re doing a Marlowe play?” he asked. “That’s amazing! I love Marlowe.”

“Why, yes, I am,” Costa said. “We have a rather small cast, so it’s going to be a bit of an avant-garde production, but of course those are the best kind!”

“How are you handling the subtext between Faustus and Mephistopheles?” Ben asked. “There’s a lot there to work with, really, and I’ve never seen it played up enough.”

“I need to go say hi to some people,” Peter said. There had to be someone in the room he could talk to who wasn’t so intense. “I’ll catch up with you later, all right?”

“Wait!” Costa said. “Before you go, take this.” He wrote down his phone number on a napkin and pushed it at Peter. “So that you can sign up to audition. I’ll expect to hear from you soon.”

“Okay,” Peter said. He balled up the napkin and shoved it into his pocket, then walked purposefully across the room as though he knew where he was going. When he saw that Meg was sitting on her own now, he switched direction and went towards her as quickly as he could.

“Hey, Meg,” he said, sliding into Jaquie’s vacated place on the couch. “What’s up?”

Meg smiled at him. “Nothing. What about _you_? I saw you chatting up that cute guy over there.”

“Costa?” Peter asked. “I mean, he’s interesting, but I don’t think he’s really my type.”

“Too bad,” Meg said. 

“Speaking of invasive questions about people’s love lives, how are things with you and Jaquie?” Peter asked. “Seemed to be heating up last time I looked over here.”

Meg slapped his shoulder. “Oh, shut up,” she said, but her smile grew even larger. “She’s really cool. I didn’t think there was anyone worth dating at this point, but Jaquie is.”

“You two are downright dangerous as a couple,” Peter said. “Somebody should go ahead of you and provide safety gear for anyone you cross paths with.” This was good, this easy camaraderie. This was what parties were supposed to be like.

Meg raised an eyebrow. “Babes, you know I’d be just as dangerous on my own.”

“True,” Peter admitted.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask, did you ever end up reading my biphobia article?” Meg asked, her face turning serious. She always looked like this when talking about her writing, and Peter often thought that dropping out before Year Thirteen was the best thing she could have done, if it meant there was something she cared about this much.

“Yeah, actually, I did,” Peter said. After he and Ben had talked, he’d sought out the article. “I thought it was really good.”

“Of course it is, _I_ wrote it,” Meg said. “The magazine loved it too. And I’ve been getting all these fan letters thanking me for writing about queer issues. It’s actually kind of amazing.”

“You deserve it,” Peter said. He leaned back further against the couch, head tilted back so that he was looking at the ceiling. It was decorated with fairy lights.

“I know I do. You probably deserve some of the credit too, though,” she said, in a tone that suggested this was obvious.

Peter half-laughed and turned his head to look at her. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re the reason I was brave enough to come out, didn’t you know that? If it weren’t for us flatting together, I’d probably still be loudly pretending to be straight.”

“Fred’s pansexual, though. It could just as easily have been because you’re living with her,” Peter said. He looked around for his beer, then realized he must have left it behind when he went to talk to Jaquie and Costa. 

“Yeah, but it’s not the same,” Meg said. “Yeah, Freddie’s pan, but she doesn’t like, _talk_ about it. You’re always mentioning things about your experiences figuring things out, or pushing back when people say things that you don’t think are right. You made me feel like I was safe, like we were on the same team or something even though you didn’t know I was bi at first. That’s why I’m writing things like that article. I want to help people the way you helped me.”

Peter had no idea how to process this. “I wasn’t trying to do those things,” he muttered.

“I know. You helped me by being comfortable with yourself. I saw you doing it and I thought, ‘Hey, I could do that too.’”

Peter nodded as though he understood. “I’m glad I could help, then.” He felt as though the world had been knocked off its hinges. He hadn’t _done_ anything, except fuck up and punish himself for it and then fuck up some more. Yeah, he’d talked about being bi a fair bit in the interim, but it was never anything particularly insightful. How had that helped Meg? How had that helped _anyone?_

“I’m gonna get another drink,” he said, pushing himself up off the couch. “Do you want anything?”

Meg smiled. “Jaquie’s making me something. Thanks, though.”

Peter just nodded, then made his way off through the crowd, completely unsure of where he was going. He could just go home, he realized. He didn’t have to be here. It wasn’t like he and Balthazar were _friends_. 

_What are you, then?_ Peter asked himself. He didn’t know the answer. 

He should at least go say hi. Kit had told him that Balthazar wanted to see him. It was bad taste to leave a birthday party without talking to the guest of honor under usual circumstances, but it’d be even worse when Balthazar had asked for Peter. He looked around the room, but Balthazar was still nowhere in sight.

“Hey, do you know where Balthazar is?” he asked a woman with red, curly hair who was standing by herself.

She looked at him. “Who’re you?” she asked. “I’ve never seen you with my brother before.”

“You’re his sister?” Peter asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “Anyway, I don’t know where Balthy is. Try the kitchen.”

Peter tried the kitchen. And the hallway, and a couple of bedrooms until walking in on a couple missing several articles of clothing made him reconsider that approach. It didn’t matter. Balthazar clearly wasn’t in any of those places.

_It’s not my fault that I couldn’t talk to him, then,_ Peter thought, letting out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. _If Kit asks I can just say I couldn’t find him in the crowd. It won’t even be a lie._

He could leave now.

Peter slipped through the front door of the flat and started down the steps, only to stop abruptly when he realized that somebody was sitting at the bottom of them.

“Hi,” he said, still a few steps above the figure he knew to be Balthazar.

“Hey,” Balthazar said, not looking up. 

Peter stepped down and sat next to him. _Hope no one needs to use these stairs any time soon._ “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.” Balthazar continued to look at his hands. 

For some reason, this bothered Peter, that Balthazar wasn’t more happy at his own birthday. He put a hand on his shoulder in what was meant to be a reassuring gesture. “Hey, bro, is everything okay?”

Balthazar shrugged. “Bit overwhelmed, is all.”

“No instrument tonight?”

“Rosa insisted that I leave them in my room and actually interact with people. She meant well.”

Peter didn’t know what to do with his body, so he kept talking. “It’s weird to see you without one.” He hadn’t realized how much he considered the instruments a part of Balthazar until they weren’t there.

“It’s weird to be without one. So, are you ready to go?”

“What?” Peter asked. _Shit._ His mind started moving way too quickly. Did they have some sort of plans that Kit had forgotten to relay to him? Or worse, had Kit refused to tell him on purpose because he knew Peter would find a way out of it if he knew there were plans? What exactly did Balthazar think they were supposed to be doing tonight?

“Are you ready to go?” Balthazar repeated. “We’re going somewhere, aren’t we? It’s what we do. Leave awful parties and go somewhere else.”

“That sounds—” _Amazing. Awful. A break from the monotony of everyday existence. Dangerous._ “We could go somewhere, yeah. Should probably wait until the party’s died down a bit, though.”

“No.” Balthazar shook his head vigorously. “I want to go now. Please, let’s just go. Besides, you were already leaving, yeah?”

“Are you sure?” Peter asked. “I don’t want to make you leave your own party.”  
“You’re not making me do anything, it was my idea,” Balthazar said. “Besides, I don’t even like parties. I don’t know why I thought I let Rosa convince me to have one this year, it’s not like I ever enjoy myself.”

Peter let himself consider this, then nodded, face breaking out into a broad grin. “All right,” he said. “Perfect. Let’s just _leave_ then. Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere,” Balthazar said. 

“The beach,” Peter said, surprising himself with how quickly he had an answer, almost as though he’d been thinking about it since the last part. Which he hadn’t. _He hadn’t._. He got to his feet and looked around, but all he could see were houses. “Can you get there from here?”

“We’re walking distance from the bay, yeah,” Balthazar said. “It’s pretty deserted at night, too, or at least parts of it are.”

“Perfect. Let’s go,” Peter said, putting out his hand to pull Balthazar to his feet. Neither of them let go when they were standing, but continued holding hands as they walked down the steps and onto the pavement. Peter focused on that, the way their hands fit together, and as the got closer to the beach, the way the waves lapped against the shore. Anything but the gnawing feeling in his chest that had started out small but was increasing with every moment. When had escape stopped feeling like escape?

“Is there anywhere we can sit without getting covered in sand?” Peter asked.

Balthazar lifted his free hand and pointed. “Yeah, there are some large rocks over there if you want to sit.”

“Sitting sounds good,” Peter said. They walked down onto the beach and through the sand to the rocks and climbed up onto them. Peter had to let go of Balthazar’s hand for that, which sent a flash of disappointment through him.

As soon as they were situated, Balthazar spoke. “I suppose I should apologize, for last time.”

Peter winced, the feeling in his chest growing even worse. “Can just we agree right now to never use that word again? I hate it. Anyway, you have nothing to apologize for. I overreacted. Let’s just move on.”

“You were just saying what you felt,” Balthazar said. “That’s not necessarily an overreaction. But it’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it. I just wanted to say that I know I pushed too far and I’m sorry about that.”

“Sorry’s off-limits too,” Peter said, looking across the water and wondering why it couldn’t just be still. “At least for tonight. I want to have one fucking night where nobody’s apologizing to anyone else.”

“All right, then,” Balthazar said. Peter wondered how he could be so calm when Peter was being such an asshole about everything. “In that case, thank you. For showing up tonight. I wasn’t sure you would.”

This, too, was dangerously close to emotional territory. “Yeah, no problem, bro,” Peter said. “It was a nice party.”

“Yeah, it was. Leaving was nicer, though,” Balthazar said. 

Peter turned to look at him, a million questions he wanted to ask, and all of a sudden they were kissing. His hands fell around Balthazar’s hips, while Balthazar’s hand when to the nape of his neck. Peter’s heart was racing, and he tried to reign it in. It was just a kiss, he did it all the time. It wasn’t supposed to make him feel like this, like he was running headlong down a hill trying not to fall too quickly. He was supposed to be in control.

But he wasn’t, and Balthazar’s lips moved to his neck, to his collarbone and Peter leaned his head back and let his eyes fall open, taking in the stars that Balthazar had named for him. 

Too much. It was far too much. He pulled away to say this, but instead found himself drawn back towards Balthazar’s lips. Peter slipped his hand into Balthazar’s hair and ran his fingers through the soft strands. For a crazy moment, Peter thought he could feel his heartbeat in his lips, but then he found himself too distracted by the kiss to wonder if that was even possible.

When they finally separated, Peter had to fight back the urge to apologize. His eyes flicked to Balthazar’s lips again, but he didn’t close the gap.

An awkward silence fell over them. Balthazar kept looking at him. “This is one of the many reasons why it’s good to have an instrument around,” he said. “You can pull it out during moments like this when neither person knows what to say and it feels less like you’re avoiding talking.”

Peter laughed, slowly starting to relax. “This something that happens to you a lot, then?”

Balthazar shook his head. “Like this? Nah, not a lot.” He smiled, and he was so goddamn beautiful that Peter felt as though he might fall apart at the sight of it.

“I’ve changed my mind about something,” he said. “I want to know your first name after all. Seems only fair, if you’re going to keep sitting there looking like—like that.”

Balthazar laughed. “Is that a compliment?” he asked. 

“It was supposed to be, but I think I blew it.”

“Nah, you did all right. Sure you want to know my name though?” Balthazar asked teasingly. Once I tell you it won’t be a mystery anymore.”

“That’s okay with me,” Peter said. He shivered slightly as his face was hit by the wind, but he wasn’t cold. “There’s probably enough mysteries in my life without creating extra ones for myself.”

Balthazar laughed and leaned back on his hands. “All right. It’s Stanley.”

“Really?” Peter asked. He almost laughed, not because of the name but because it was so average, and the boy sitting next to him was anything but average.

“Yeah. Stanley Balthazar Jones.”

“Stanley, though? I mean, no offense, but I don’t really see you as a Stanley.”

“Yeah, I don’t really either. Balthazar suits me better.”

“I like Stanley, though. I mean, I think I’d like any name if it was yours.” Peter blushed, wondering when he’d devolved into cheesy chat-up lines. 

“Thanks,” Balthazar said.

“So, why were you so eager to leave your own party?” Peter asked. “I mean, I know why I wanted to leave, but that doesn’t really seem like you.” It felt really important that he know this, like if he could just put together the puzzle that was Stanley Balthazar Jones his own life might fall into place too.

Balthazar shrugged. “I dunno. I’m not really much for parties. I mean, I do keep leaving them with you.”

“Yeah, but you don’t seem like someone who would leave your _own_ party,” Peter said. He shifted positions as a sharp edge of the rock dug into his leg, and ended up sitting even closer to Balthazar. “What are all those people going to do when they realize you’re not there?”

“They probably won’t notice, there’s a lot of them,” Balthazar said. “And most of them are Rosa’s friends anyway.”

Peter waited for more.

“I guess I just—don’t like having all of that attention on me,” Balthazar admitting playing with his sleeves. “I don’t mind if it’s just a few people, but with that many—It’s different when I’m performing, though, then the attention’s on my music and not me. All I have to do is play, it’s not the same sort of interaction.”

“If you don’t like parties, why do you keep going?” Peter asked. “I mean, you had to be at this one obviously, but we’ve seen each other at a lot of these things lately. Why do you bother showing up?”

A small smile tugged on Balthazar’s lips. “Well, I suppose it’s not _all_ bad.”

Peter was still mulling this over when Balthazar returned his question.

“Why do _you_ keep showing up to parties and then leaving? You actually seem like someone who might actually like them.”

Peter looked away. “I don’t know.” There was a bird digging in the sand a few feet away from them. If Ben had been there he would have told them what sort of bird it was, but then, if Ben had been there Peter wouldn’t have been alone with Balthazar and he might as well just go back to the flat at that point.

“Got any guesses?” Balthazar prompted.

“I’m pretty sure all of the worst parts of Year Thirteen took place at parties.”

“Yeah, but you must still like them at least a little bit or you wouldn’t show up at all, yeah?”

Peter considered this. “I guess I was enjoying them for a while, when I first got to Wellington. Nobody knew me or expected anything from me, you know? I could be whoever I wanted. But then it just turned into a new set of expectations.”

“Yeah?”

“There’s also just nothing to do anymore,” Peter said, steering the conversation away from the personal. “I used to have Meg to hang out with at parties, but now she’s always off with Jaquie, who was the the other person I hung out with.”

“Are they dating?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. I mean, really it’s a good thing. Like, I’m really happy that Meg finally came out, and she and Jaquie are good together. She’s even started writing about bi issues for the magazine she works at.” Just months after coming out, and she already had her shit so much more together than Peter ever would. 

The bird abruptly stopped digging and flew off.

“That’s cool.”

“She said it was because of me,” Peter said. His voice trembled a bit, and he struggled to keep it sounding casual. “Because being around me made her feel like she could come out. Can you believe that?”

“It makes sense,” Balthazar said. He shifted closer so that their legs were pressed together. Peter couldn’t tell if the action was intentional or not. “I remember when I first came out as gay to Kit, and he told me that he was pansexual. It was really a relief to know I wasn’t alone. I’m not surprised your friend Meg would feel that way.”

“It’s not surprising that Meg would feel that way,” Peter agreed. “Just that it’s me she thinks helped her out. It was probably Jaquie or Fred, really, but she’s trying to give me some sort of credit for it. It’s just weird.”

“It could have been all of you,” Balthazar said. “Like, the abstract concept of a support network. I can see how that’d be comforting.”

_I wouldn’t know._ “I guess it would be,” Peter said.

“You didn’t have that when you came out, then?” Balthazar asked. He looked up at Peter, and they made eye contact for a long moment.

Peter tore his eyes away and shook his head. “No. Just me.” He didn’t even have to turn his head to know that Balthazar was still looking at him. 

“Sounds lonely.”

Did it? Peter had never thought of it that way. Coming out hadn’t felt like a choice so much as a necessity, like if he didn’t his skin would keep getting tighter until he was no longer able to breathe. He’d taken it for granted that this was the way things had to be. Finally telling people had been a relief. His friends had stood by him as much as they knew how to, and his parents had seemed confused but never said anything bad about it. But had it been lonely? “Maybe,” he admitted.

“Well, at least by coming out first you were able to help people,” Balthazar said. 

“Haven’t you been listening to me?” Peter snapped. He shifted his body away so that he could look at Balthazar without feeling too close. “I didn’t help her. It wasn’t me.” There wasn’t enough rock. There was only enough shifting he could do before he’d fall off. 

Balthazar looked confused. “Why are you so reluctant to take credit for helping someone out?”

“I’m not, I just don’t think I need praise for something I never did!” Peter forced himself to take a few deep breaths. When that didn’t work he looked at the water, hoping for a sense of calm in the waves, but the wind made the water break and leap in all the ways it shouldn’t be doing.

“Well, even if you really didn’t help your friend Meg, you might be able to help other people. It’s a good thing, Peter.” 

“Why is it my job to do that?” Peter demanded hoarsely. “Nobody did that for me, and I was just fine.”

“Were you?” Balthazar asked. He slipped his hand into Peter’s. “I wasn’t there, of course, but it sort of seems like you pretended to be okay because you had to be. It sort of seems like you’re still trying to do that.”

Peter didn’t say anything. For some reason, his thoughts shifted back to the conversation he’d had with Costa at the party, the way he’d avoided even thinking about being in the play. This is what that had been about, hadn’t it? If he auditioned for a play he’d have to be okay for long enough that he could perform the role without letting anyone down, and he couldn’t, just fucking couldn’t.

“This probably isn’t even my business,” Balthazar said. “I just want you to know that what you do matters.” 

Peter yanked his hand away. “Well, I don’t need another person telling me I’m not living up to my full potential!” he shouted, surprising himself. His voice was swallowed almost immediately by the sound of the waves. Fuck, this just kept happening. Meg, telling him he’d helped her out. Costa and Jaquie, pushing him to be in a play. What was this, some sort of conspiracy to get Peter to actually try and risk getting hurt? “You want me to do something with my life? You want me to make some kind of a fucking change so you can feel like I’m actually going somewhere and not just around in circles?”

“I didn’t say any of that,” Balthazar said steadily.

“I know what you meant,” Peter said. Fine. If everyone was so fucking eager to see him participate in life, why not do it? If he failed, maybe they’re finally all understand that what he needed was to be left alone. “I need to make a call.” He unsteadily got to his feet. The napkin ripped as he pulled it out of his pocket, but the number was still legible enough for him to dial it. 

Costa answered the phone after only one ring. “Who is calling? I am in the middle of an important conversation about one of the great masters of theater, so I sincerely hope that this is important.”

“Oh, it is,” Peter said, hoping that Costa would mistake the anger in his voice for passion for the theater. “It’s Peter Donaldson. I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be there for auditions this week.”

“Of course you will, Peter Donaldson,” Costa said, sounding completely unsurprised. “I always believed you had it in you, even after that _debacle_ with Faustus. I’m still arranging the audition schedule, but I will send you a text message when I’ve decided your time.”

“Um, okay then,” Peter said, feeling suddenly exhausted. “That’s all I wanted to say.”

“That’s more than enough, Peter,” Costa said. “I will see you in a few days.”

Peter hung up the phone, suddenly unsure of what to do with himself. Had he really just called Costa to sign up for a play? He could get out of it, he supposed, but maybe it’d be better not to. Jaquie would be furious with him if he backed out again. Besides, it hadn’t just been out of a sense to prove himself to Balthazar, had it? There were a million other ways he could have done that. Maybe there was some reason for this, even if he couldn’t think of it now. Maybe things would make sense eventually.

“Peter,” Balthazar said. He moved as though to stand, then stopped himself. “I’m—”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Peter said. He crossed his arms, then uncrossed them, unsure of which gesture was the correct one. 

“I thought you didn’t want to use that word anymore,” Balthazar said.

Peter sighed loudly. “I don’t. Just don’t do it, okay?”

“All right,” Balthazar said.

“You’re just—you’re so fucking perfect. Does it drive people crazy how perfect you are? I bet you’ve never even failed a test. You eat healthy too, don’t you? And you drink but you never get drunk, or if you do, not so drunk that your friends worry about you and make jokes at your expense because they want to make you quit but don’t know how. And you’ve never broken a promise or told a lie or ignored someone for so long that they ran away from home, right?” Peter took a few ragged breaths. “You’re—I don’t know what you are. Wait, scratch that, I do. You want to know what you are, Balthazar Jones? You’re some sort of fucking elven prince. And you think you’re helping, but you’re not, okay?” 

The night sky was too vast. It made Peter feel small and he hated it.

“I know you’re just lashing out because you’re hurt,” Balthazar said, still far too calm. It made Peter want to scream.

Instead, he picked up a rock and flung it into the ocean. “Fuck _off,_ Balthazar!” The rock made a splash, then disappeared. He picked up another one, bigger. “Why are you letting me walk all over you like this? Why won’t you _fucking_ fight back?” The splash this time was bigger, but still not enough to give Peter any sense of catharsis. “Just get mad, okay? Yell or something, or tell me to go to hell, just _fight back!_ ” Peter threw a third rock, so much anger in his body that it missed the water all together and smashed against a much larger stone, breaking into pieces at it made impact. Peter collapsed onto the rock, shaking with emotion. “Why can’t you just hate me?”

“You want me to get mad?” Balthazar asked. He got to his feet, using his hands for balance so he wouldn’t fall off the rock. For a moment, Peter almost laughed, until Balthazar opened his mouth again. “Fine, I’ll get mad! You think you’re the only person in the world who’s dealing with this shit? You think you’re the only person in the universe who’s ever made a mistake? We’re nineteen years old, Peter! This is what happens! You fuck up, and then you get over it and move on! And yeah, I _am_ mad. I’m fucking furious, actually, because _you_ don’t seem to care enough to actually fight for yourself!”

“I’m not the one refusing to fight,” Peter said. 

“Yes, you are! You expect everyone to hate you, and when they don’t you do everything you can to disappoint them so they will. Maybe I don’t stand up for myself enough, but at least I try to take care of myself, which is a lot more than you’re doing!”

“Oh, fuck off.” Across the beach, he could see two people holding hands in the moonlight. At first he thought they were walking towards him and Balthazar, but when he looked closer he realized they were walking away.

“No!” Balthazar’s voice broke as he said this. “You told me to fight, so I’m fighting. You think you’re the only one who feels helpless and broken? You think life is so much easier for everyone else?”

“It’s not the same.”

“ _Yes, it is._ Maybe not exactly the same, but you’re not the first person in the world who’s ever felt like shit about something, all right? But fucking—wallowing in it, it doesn’t help anyone does it? Your brother’s probably not sitting around feeling sorry about himself for what _he_ did, is he?” 

“Keep John out of this!” Fuck. Peter had thought fighting with Balthazar would simplify things, make it all go away, but all it was doing was forcing him to think about the things he’d been working so hard not to think about.

“Fine,” Balthazar said. His voice had gotten quieter, as though he’d worked through some of the anger that had been in it before. “I’ll move to all that shit you said about me being perfect. For fuck’s sake, Peter, you heard the story about me getting kicked out of music camp. Do you think that’s fun and healthy three year old behavior, crying because you can’t play difficult music on the piano? Or school, do you think I like feeling like shit every time I get a B because all I can think about is how much better Jojo or Rosa would have done? Nobody’s perfect, Peter. But at some point, you’ve got to let go of that. I can’t sit around thinking about how much better my sisters are at school any more than they should sit around wishing they could play the kazoo or whatever fucking instrument I’m on that week.”

“Getting a B isn’t the same as hurting someone,” Peter insisted, silently begging Balthazar to agree, to let it go, anything that would mean they could stop talking about it and pretend it had never happened.

“No, and accidentally hurting someone with misinformation is different than spreading misinformation with the intent to hurt someone, but you seem to have forgiven John just fine!”

“I can’t make what I did go away!” Peter shouted, a last desperate attempt to make Balthazar see that it wasn’t okay, that it wouldn’t ever be okay.

Balthazar stared down at him. “No, but you can control what you do now. We all fuck up, Peter! What matters now is what you do next.”

Peter’s head swam with images. John, apologizing to Hero and the way she’d just _accepted_ it. Ben, saying he’d read Meg’s biphobia article. Meg, saying she’d written a fucking article because he, Peter Donaldson, had made her feel safe. Himself and his own attempts feel safe in a world in which he couldn’t be Pedro Donaldson, heterosexual student leader and all-around-great guy. How he’d tried to build himself up from scratch when past versions of himself crumbled like a castle made of sand. 

Anger gave way to exhaustion, and before Peter was aware of what was happening he was sobbing. He pulled his legs to his chest and buried his face in his knees, but there was no way to hide the noises he was making. After a moment, he felt Balthazar’s arm move around his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered between sobs. “I’m sorry I’m suck a fuck-up.”

“Sorry’s off-limits tonight,” Balthazar replied gently. His hand rubbed circles on Peter’s back. “You deserve a night where you get to feel however you feel without apologizing for it.”

For a long time, Peter just cried, listening to the ugliness as it escaped his body where he’d held it for so long. “I don’t know what to do,” he confessed when the tears had slowed enough that he could speak. “I don’t know who I am anymore. I couldn’t keep being him—the guy I was in high school—but who I chose to be this year turns out to be shit too.”

“I dunno,” Balthazar said. “I rather like him, myself. But then, I think I’d like any version of you.”

Peter laughed at the obvious lie. “Really? Because, like, five minutes ago you were yelling at me for the stupid choices I make.”

“Yeah, but like, disliking somebody’s choices doesn’t mean you dislike the person. Like, I want you to stop hurting yourself because I care about you, not because I think you’re a shitty person for doing it.” 

“Why, though?” Peter asked, wondering if he could trust any of what Balthazar was saying to be true, when it didn’t make sense with what he knew about himself. The hand on his back felt so safe, but was anything really safe? “Why do you care? You barely know me.”

“I do, though,” Balthazar said. Peter couldn’t see him, but his voice sounded as though he were smiling. “And I know you better than you think. Besides, why does anyone care about anyone? They just do, yeah?”

“I guess,” Peter said. He loosened his hold on his legs. “I’m not going to do that again,” he said quietly. “Yell at you like that, I mean. You don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

“Good,” Balthazar said. “”But I don’t think it was really me you were yelling at.”

The words _collateral damage_ rose to the top of Peter’s mind, and he wondered how many other people he’d hurt while hurting himself. “I’m still going to stop.” After a moment, he asked, “Do you think I should talk to someone about—all of this?”

“You mean like a therapist?”

“Yeah.” It was something Ben had brought up months ago, one morning when Peter had been dealing with the worst hangover of his life. He hadn’t taken it seriously then, so sure that he had everything under control.

“Might not be a bad idea,” Balthazar said. “I used to see someone for anxiety and it did me a lot of good. Worth considering anyway.”

“I think I’m going to do it.” Something had to change, something more meaningful than his name or or his alcohol tolerance. It had to be real this time.

“Balthazar?” Peter asked.

“Yeah?”

“Will you tell me a story?”

“What about?” Balthazar’s arm went back around Peter’s shoulder, pulling him more tightly to his side.

Peter thought about this. “Tell me a story about us,” he said, then immediately, “Never mind, that’s a stupid idea.”

“No, I’ll tell one,” Balthazar said. “I’ll need a minute to think, though.”

“Take your time,” Peter said. He was still crying, but he unfurled his body the rest of the way and leaned into Balthazar more fully, and wasn’t it funny, that this boy who had seemed so small when Peter had first met him was now the only thing keeping Peter from collapsing?

“I think I’ve got it. So, once upon a time there were two boys who were lost at sea.”

“Metaphorically or literally?” Peter asked, proud of himself for managing a bit of humor at a time like this.

Balthazar laughed. “Metaphorically. Now, these two boys hated parties. One of them hated parties because he felt awkward in large groups and never knew what to do with his hands when he didn’t have an instrument to keep him safe. The other one seemed like a boy who had once loved parties, but had learned to hate them because it was easier than hating himself. Or maybe not. I should probably specify, the third person point of view here is a ruse.”

Peter laughed. “A ruse, is it?”

“Yes. A downright lie, actually. See, the narration’s in third person, but the boy with the music is the narrator and he can only say what he sees, which is of course prone to inaccuracy. At any rate, he thought that the other boy seemed lonely, when they ran into each other on the porch. They left together and went to a park.”

“Then the other boy skinned his knee,” Peter said. “And he asked for a kiss to make it better.”

“Yes,” Balthazar said. “That he did.”

Peter let the story wash over him as Balthazar went through the details of what had happened that night, then the Halloween part. Balthazar’s fingers started running through his hair, softly but with a quiet sureness. 

When Peter looked out at the water, the crashing of the waves didn’t bother him anymore.

“Then, on the third night, they fought. The boy with the music was worried and angry and without an instrument to direct his emotions into, he was honest. Maybe more honest than he had a right to be.”

“You weren’t,” Peter said, shaking his head. “It was shit to hear, but you said what you meant. And I was the one who asked you to get mad.”

“True,” Balthazar said. His fingers continued their path through Peter’s hair. “But there may have been better ways to go about it, ways that wouldn’t hurt you so much.”

“You weren’t the one who hurt me,” Peter said. “Everything’s fucked up right now and a lot of that came to the surface, but that doesn’t mean you _caused_ it.”

“I still feel like I hurt you a little. The boy with the music wanted to apologize, you know. But apologizing was strictly forbidden.”

“Well,” Peter said. “When you see the boy, tell him that the pain he caused wasn’t any worse than the pain from a skinned knee.”

“Perhaps he could try to kiss it better,” Balthazar offered.

Peter laughed, something inside of him loosening in a way that it hadn’t in months. “Yes, maybe he should try that,” Peter said. “It’s worth a shot anyway, isn’t it?”

Balthazar cupped Peter’s cheek with his hand, tilting his head so that they were facing each other. He leaned forward and left a lingering kiss on his lips.

When they separated, Peter stayed close. “So, does it have a happy ending?” he asked, continuing to stare into Balthazar’s eyes. “The story, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” Balthazar said. “It hasn’t ended yet.”

“That’s not what you’re supposed to say.”

Balthazar’s lips quirked upward. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Peter swallowed hard. “You’re supposed to say, stop being an idiot, Peter Adrian Donaldson. Everyone knows that stories have to have happy endings.”

“All right,” Balthazar said. “I think I’ll leave out the part about you being an idiot, though.”

“But the other part?” Peter prompted.

Balthazar looked at him and smiled. “Of course it has a happy ending. You know that’s the only kind of story I like.”

Peter leaned in and kissed him again.

For a long time after that, they didn’t talk much, just took comfort in being with each other and able to touch. Peter felt tired after all of the crying, but it wasn’t the fatigue he’d grown used to experiencing, just the feeling you get at the end of a long day when you’d done more than you thought possible. Mostly, it felt as if something toxic had been expelled from his body, and he wondered what would have happened if he’d let himself cry like this after everything that had happened last year, if he hadn’t waited so damn long to decide to feel something.

Just as Peter was deciding whether or not to kiss Balthazar again, Balthazar’s phone lit up. 

“Kit just texted me to say the party’s winding down,” Balthazar said once he’d read the message. “I guess I should probably go back soon.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic about it.” Peter wasn’t sure if this was how Balthazar sounded at all, only that he wanted it to be true because it would mean they were on the same page, where Peter desperately needed them to be right now.

“I don’t want to go,” Balthazar admitted. “It’s not that it’s bad there or anything, it’s just that I want to stay with you right now.”

“Oh.” Peter didn’t know what to say to that, but his face broke out into a smile. He couldn’t remember the last time somebody had really and truly wanted to stay.

“Would you—” Balthazar stopped abruptly and looked down.

“What?” Peter asked. “Would I what?”

Balthazar didn’t reply for a moment, then said, “Fuck it. Will you come back with me?”

Peter frowned. “But I thought you didn’t want—”

“I don’t mean like, for sex or anything. I just don’t feel like being alone right now, and I’d rather be with you than anyone else. My bed’s big enough that you could share, and I think Kit has a sleeping bag you could borrow if you’d rather do the floor or the couch. I just—I’d really like you to come.”

“Of course I’ll come,” Peter said. “I’ll even share your bed, if you want.”

Balthazar wrapped his arms around Peter and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Peter climbed down off the rock, then reached out his hands to help pull Balthazar back to the ground. When he’d landed, Peter wrapped his arms around him and kissed him hard, trying to put all of the things he couldn’t say into the kiss. When they finally broke apart Balthazar took Peter’s hand, and they walked back to the flat together.


	4. Epilogue-A New Beginning

**December**

This party sucked.

Costa had invited Peter to the Faustus after-party, and after finding out that Paige was dragging Balthazar along Peter had accepted the invitation. At the moment, they were curled up together on a couch in the living room. The party was being hosted by Kit’s boss, a guy named Fred, who had an enormous flat. Peter wasn’t sure how he and Costa knew each other, but they seemed be getting along pretty well, judging by the way they were leaning across a table in some sort of intense discussion.

Peter had already made the rounds around the apartment and made conversation with the other Waiting For Godot cast members, but once he’d finished that he had no idea what to do with himself. A few people were dancing. There weren’t really enough enough of them to fill the space but they more than made up for it with enthusiasm. A few yards away from Peter’s space on the couch, Jaquie was twirling Meg in circles of increasing speed.

“I don’t know why I let you convince me to come to this party,” Peter said, playing with Balthazar’s fingers. “Neither of us actually enjoys these things.”

“Oh, come on,” Balthazar said. He leaned his head on Peter’s shoulder. “You enjoy them some of the time.”

“I suppose,” Peter admitted. “When it’s with the right people.”

“Exactly,” Balthazar said. “Besides, I may not like going to parties, but if I don’t show up to them occasionally I don’t get to do one of my favorite things.”

“Oh, yeah?” Peter asked. His lips quirked upward into a smile. “And what would _that_ be?”

“Sneaking out of parties with you, of course,” Balthazar said. “Speaking of which,” he said, pulling out his phone to check the time. “I think after another half hour or so we should be able to bail.”

Peter looked into Balthazar’s eyes and smiled. “I supposed I can wait that long for you.”

Balthazar leaned up to place a soft kiss on Peter’s lips. “Let’s go dance for a bit,” he suggested.

“Okay.” 

Peter took Balthazar’s hand and they made their way to where the others were dancing. Their friends shifted to make room for them. When Balthazar wrapped his arms around him Peter closed his eyes for a second to capture the moment. Then they were pulled by their friends into the dance, and time started moving again, almost as though it had never stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you want to find me on Tumblr, my url is bisexual-meme-thief.


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